#Boss Traffic Pricing

[marketingprofitmedia]

Boss Traffic Review – Targeted Buyer Traffic Hack for Any Link In Any Niche

Welcome to my Boss Traffic Review, This is a real user-based Boss Traffic review where I will focus on the features, upgrades, demo, pricing and bonus, how Boss Traffic can help you, and my opinion. This is Our Secret 2024 “Traffic Hack” that Drives 1,500+ Laser Targeted Buyer Clicks To Any Link In Any Niche Banking Us $373.95 Per Day No Tech Skills Needed.

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Boss Traffic Review: What Is Boss Traffic?

Boss Traffic is a cutting-edge web-based platform designed to significantly boost internet traffic for organizations across a variety of sectors. It works by combining a variety of traffic generating tactics to attract people from various sources such as social media platforms, search engines, and direct website visits.

Boss Traffic Review: Overview

Creator: Fergal Downes

Product: Boss Traffic

Date Of Launch: 2024-Mar-04

Time Of Launch: 11:00 EST

Front-End Price: $12.95

Official Website: Click Here

Product Type: Video, SEO & Traffic

Support: Effective Response

Discount : Get The Best Discount Right Now!

Recommended: Highly Recommended

Required Skill: All Levels

Refund: YES, 90 Days Money-Back Guarantee

Boss Traffic Review: Features

Step by Step System that Gives You Everything you Need to drive high converting, FREE traffic.

Tested and Proven to Work and with MANY Student Success Stories

Set & Forget System. Simply set this up one time and it brings in traffic automatically

No Tech Skills Needed, 100% newbie friendly

This method is something FRESH and NEW that You’ve Never Seen Before

NO Waiting For Results — Get Buyer Traffic Today

New Traffic Loophole For 2024

Money-Back Guarantee

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Boss Traffic Review: How Does It Work?

Boss Traffic Review: Can Do For You

How to get everything setup in the next 30 minutes.

Why this COMPLETE passive profits system makes it faster than ever to get traffic and start making money today

We’ll show you how to use the included ‘Done for You’ Follow Up Series to not only make your initial sales, but to make multiple sales from your traffic.

Once the traffic starts flowing steadily, it just keeps coming, so it’s easy to scale this up as big as you want when you follow the simple steps inside the training

Boss Traffic Review: Who Should Use It?

Affiliate Marketer

Blog Owners

CPA Marketer

eCom Store Owners

Product Creators

Small and Large Business Owners

Freelancers

Agency Owners

Any Kind Of Marketer

Boss Traffic Review: OTO And Pricing

Front End Price: Boss Traffic ($12.97)

OTO 1: Done For You ($27)

OTO 2: Mass Free Traffic Training ($17)

OTO 3: Empire VIP Club ($2)

OTO 4: Product Launching Training ($197)

OTO 5: Arbitrage Prodigy ($297)

OTO 6: Done For You Prodigy ($37)

OTO 7: Reseller rights ($97)

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Boss Traffic Review: User Opinion

Boss Traffic Review: My Special Bonus Bundle

And before I end my honest Boss Traffic Review, I told you that I would give you my very own unique PFTSES formula for Free.

Boss Traffic Review: Pros and Cons

Pros:

Increased website traffic: Aims to attract more visitors, potentially boosting brand awareness and conversions.

SEO and content assistance: Offers SEO suggestions and pre-written content to ease traffic generation.

Convenience and time-saving: Provides a centralized platform for managing SEO, content, and social media.

Cons:

Limited transparency: Methods for generating traffic remain undisclosed, raising concerns about legitimacy.

Reliance on pre-written content: May compromise originality and user experience.

Unrealistic expectations: “Unlimited traffic” claims can be misleading and unsustainable.

Limited control and customization: May offer limited control over the type of traffic and content used.

Boss Traffic Review: Money Back Guarantee

100% of your money back inside 90 days totally risk-free.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Is there a Money Back Guarantee?

Yes, you get the next 30 days to make sure this is for you. If you change your mind for any reason, just let us know and we’ll send you a refund. The only way you can lose out is by not getting Boss Traffic today at a big discount.

Q: What is Boss Traffic?

Inside Boss Traffic you get access to Step-by-Step Training, a Unique and Powerful FREE Traffic Method, and access to 1 Passive Income Follow Up series to help you get results from all your Free Traffic.

Q: How does Boss Traffic work?

There are just 3 simple steps to success

Step #1 — Use the Step-by-Step Training Inside BossTraffic To Get Everything Setup In Less than 10 Mins

Step #2 — Activate your free Traffic hack

Step #3 — Start Making Passive Profits Within 24 Hours

Q: Is Boss Traffic newbie-friendly?

Yes, it’s probably the MOST newbie-friendly system we’ve ever released. Everything inside is simple and ready to go. Just follow the steps to get setup, use the training to get your FREE Traffic started, and then send the traffic to our proven follow up series included inside.

Q: Do I have to spend money on traffic, or is the traffic Free?

No spend at all, the traffic method included inside is completely Free.

Q: How Much Money can I Make with this?

The sky is literally the limit. You can scale this up as big as you want.

Boss Traffic Review: My Recommendation

Boss Traffic offers features that may appeal to beginners seeking a quick traffic boost. However, the lack of transparency in their methods and potential reliance on low-quality content raise concerns about long-term effectiveness. Consider exploring organic SEO strategies, content marketing, or alternative traffic generation platforms before investing in Boss Traffic, especially if you prioritize sustainable traffic growth and brand control.

>> Click Here to Get Boss Traffic + My $15000 Special Bonus Bundle to Boost Up Your Earnings More Traffic, Leads & Commissions >>

See my other reviews: WebinarX Review, AI NextSite Review, Ecco Review, WP Host Review, Orion Review, NITRO AI Review, ClipFuse AI Review, AI Platform Creator Review.

Thank for reading my Boss Traffic Review till the end. Hope it will help you to make purchase decision perfectly.

Note: Yes, this is a paid SEO & Traffic tool, however the one-time fee is $12.95 for lifetime

[rainybubbles]

How do you meet COD Men ? - AU civilian

Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, König, Rudy, Alex, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written, mid or if they're OOC)

SOAP as a firefighter : 

-"911, how can I assist you today?"

-"I think there's been a break-in at my place!"

-"Could you describe the intruder, ma'am?"

-"It's... a turkey."

-"A turkey?"

-"Yeah, one of those gobbling birds! My neighbors use a live one for their Thanksgiving, and it somehow busted loose. It barged into my place through the door, gave me a real fright. I dashed into my bathroom, but it went all 'Rambo' on my door, and now it's busted. My handle is broken, I'm stuck in here!"

-"Don't worry, help is on the way."

-And that's when you met Soap. There he was, showing up at your doorstep in full firefighter gear.

-"Hey there ?" he greeted, axe in hand, ready to face off against the rogue turkey.

-You weren’t kidding, he thought.

-He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the havoc that bird had wreaked in your place.

-Your poor sofa was toast, and your table was in pieces. Slowly, he made his way to the damaged door.

-"Hey there, Ah’m a firefighter. I’m here tae break down the door. Please step back."

-"Oh thanks ! I was starting to think I'd be spending the night bawling in my bathtub."

-He chuckled.

-"Wouldnae want a lovely person like yerself spendin’ Thanksgiving solo."

-"Thanks," you replied.

-"I'll get started," Soap said as he began dismantling the door.

-"Here, it looks like the turkey's gone," he reported.

-But when he turned to you, he noticed something amiss.

- Normally, people were relieved to see him, not scared out of their wits.

-His gaze shifted back, and that's when he saw it—the monstrous turkey, ready to pounce.

-Without a second thought, he scooped you up, effortlessly carrying you despite whatever size or weight you were, and bolted past the bird.

-"Why's that thing so fast?" he exclaimed.

-"They're practically dinosaurs, I swear!" you cried from the safety of his arms.

-You both made it to the street. Soap dialed up a wildlife specialist to handle the feathery menace.

-"Ah’l swearin’ off turkey forever," he vowed.

-"I think finding a new place to live might be a good idea," you whispered, still trying to calm your nerves.

-"Aye, yer neighbors are some real characters for pullin’ a stunt like this."

-"Thanks again for this. I mean, I'm sure you've got more pressing cases."

-"No’ really. Usually, it's just family squabbles. Last time, Ah had a grandma tryin’ tae kill her son wi’ mashed potatoes," he joked.

-"Grandma can get wild," you chuckled.

-"Ye have no idea. Name's John, by the way. Sorry for forgettin’ ma manners."

-"Hey, a wild turkey trying to take me out can do that to a person," you quipped. "I'm Y/n," you added.

-He grinned.

-“I owe you big time, Soap," you said, finally stepping out of the bathroom. "Guess this Thanksgiving, I'll be giving thanks for firefighters and sturdy bathtubs."

-Soap gave you a reassuring smile. "Hey, it's all in a day's work. Plus, -it's not every day I get to play hero to a person in distress... from a turkey."

-After the turkey trouble was sorted, Soap bid his farewell. Little did he know, two days later, your new neighbor would be attempting to cook aluminum in his microwave. Maybe this time he'd find a moment to ask for your number.

-------

GHOST as a chef : 

-The poor waitress had asked you twice if you wanted to order by the time your date arrived. But it was painfully obvious. 

-You had been stood up.

 -You tried to ignore the looks, the sensation of your clothes feeling too tight, too constricting. You felt like a clown.

-Staring at your phone, you sent messages, hoping for excuses like traffic or an important matter.

-Maybe he had a flat tire, or perhaps his boss demanded he stay late. Yet, two hours later, you were still there, feeling like a fool.

-That's when the message came: "Oh, I was just joking, you're not my type, you know."

-Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the humiliation wash over you.

-How could someone flirt for two months just as a joke? He messaged you every night; how were you supposed to know it was all a farce?

-Biting your lip, you stood up.

-At this hour, you hoped there were still buses running.

-You couldn't afford an Uber. Yet, as you gathered your things, the waitress approached.

-"Excuse me, but your food will arrive."

-"I... I'm sorry, but I can't... I can't afford anything here, and my date stood me up. He was supposed to pay, and..." you rambled, feeling ashamed, but she led you back to your seat.

-You felt even more ashamed. This place was so luxurious.

-"I really can't afford it, madam," you whispered.

-"It's on the house. The chef offered it," she said gently.

-"Oh."

-You didn't know if you felt grateful or not. It felt like pity, but food from a Michelin-starred restaurant was still a luxury, so you ate. It was unbelievably good. You felt so thankful to the chef.

-"I... could I thank him?" you asked after finishing your dinner.

-"He doesn't speak to clients. That's why he opened his own restaurant — so he could remain unseen by his patrons and not be obligated to accept their thanks, As he says “I Ghost clients”" the waitress explained.

-"I see. His dishes are so precise, it's impressive."

-"Yeah, he's good with a knife."

-"Well, thanks again for offering me this. It was a crappy night, but at least I ended up in heaven," you said.

-She smiled, and you left.

-But you felt indebted to him. Dishes like that cost a lot.

- Even if you didn't doubt he could afford it, you felt like you had to do something in return.

-So the next night, you baked cookies.

-You felt ridiculous with your small Tupperware and homemade cookies.

-They'd probably taste awful to him, you thought, but you wanted to repay him.

-"Hi, I... wanted to give this to Ghost? He offered me dishes last time, and I wanted to thank him. I understand if you say no. I mean, it could have poison in it, but..." you rambled to the waiter.

-"No need, we'll take it," the waiter with a mohawk said with a smile.

-You felt like he knew something you didn't. As you were about to leave, a tall, blond man walked over, holding a cookie.

-"Thanks," he said with a gruff voice behind his mask.

-Shit. Ghost was... this man?

-This mountain of muscles made those beautiful dishes? Those meticulous details came from his hands? You were impressed.

-"Do you like it?" you asked, unsure.

-"Best cookies I've tasted."

-"I know you're lying."

-"Second," he admitted. "My ma's were better."

-You chuckled.

-"I can give you the recipe. I mean, you really saved me last night. It was so... humiliating."

-"It's not. The only one who should feel ashamed is the bloke who stood you up, love."

-"You're right, but still."

-"Come back again, Friday. With the recipe."

-"I can send it by email."

-"I want you to taste a new dish."

-"Oh."

-"Having someone honest is nice. It's a change from all the compliments."

-"Okay," you agreed.

-Little did you know, Simon would always find new dishes to make you come back.

-Of course, he could ask his sous-chefs or waiters to taste, but seeing your smile or frown after a taste was so much better.

-(I need a long fic about Simon being a chef, like this AU has so much potential, plus in kitchen you have “brigade” which could be like 141)

GAZ as a primary school teacher : 

-You were on your usual delivery route, this time dropping off packages at the primary school.

-As you made your way through the corridors, you spotted Gaz, the primary teacher, who greeted you with a smile.

-"I was waiting for you," Gaz said cheerfully.

-"Oh, am I right on time?" you responded, glancing at your phone in confusion.

-"Yes, but the kids are eager," Gaz explained.

-You furrowed your eyebrows. Eager for what? Seeing a delivery person? Or perhaps the contents of your package were something special, like paintings or other intriguing items?

-"I see," you said, still puzzled.

-"Follow me," Gaz instructed, leading you into his classroom before you could protest.

-As you entered, you were met with the curious gaze of twenty pairs of eyes.

-It dawned on you as you glanced at a piece of paper – Gaz had mistaken you for the guest speaker, an athlete scheduled to address the students.

-"Sir, I think there's been a mistake," you whispered to Gaz, but before you could say more, a child wrapped their arms around you.

-"I'm so glad you're here!" the child exclaimed, melting your resolve. How could you shatter their excitement?

-You couldn’t bear to crush their excitement. Besides, it was clear that the athlete wasn’t going to show up; it was already 10 AM, and they were supposed to be there by 8AM according to the schedule on the board.

-And so, you found yourself spinning tales to answer their questions, pretending to be the athlete they expected. 

-“Um, hey there ! Being an athlete is pretty cool, you know” you improvised, trying to sound convincing.

-“How does it feel to do sports all day ?” one curious kid asked

-“Well it’s tough but you know riding horse is fun”

-“I thought you were running”

-“RUNNING ! Of course, horse is just a hobby” you blurted out

-Despite your fibs, the kids beamed with admiration, hanging onto your every word.

-After a couple of hours, Gaz approached you with a knowing smile.

-"You're not the athlete, are you?" he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

-"How did you figure it out?" you replied sheepishly.

-"When you mentioned unicorns helping your coach – that was a dead giveaway," Gaz chuckled. "But I appreciate you playing along."

-"I couldn’t bear to disappoint the kids. Kids' dreams are important," you admitted, feeling a twinge of guilt.

-"Yeah, they are," Gaz agreed. "Thanks for going along with it."

-"It was more fun than my usual deliveries, anyway," you admitted with a grin.

-“Wait, your boss won’t be mad ?! I mean two hours, sorry you must be so late, no ?”he said worried

-“Don’t worry you were my last”

-As you prepared to leave, Gaz introduced himself properly.

-"Thanks against or helping out. And by the way 'm Kyle, but the kids call me Gaz – it's easier for them," he explained.

-"It was nice meeting you, Gaz," you said sincerely, touched by his kindness towards the children.

-As you left the school, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment. And to your surprise, when you made your next delivery, there was Gaz, offering to lend a hand. 

-"Thought you might need some help this time," he said with a wink.

-Maybe it was repayment for your earlier assistance, or perhaps the kids had teased him about having a crush on you – either way, you were grateful for his company.

PRICE as an uni history teacher :

-It was about 10 PM, and there you were, sprinting in high heels, your wig dangling precariously.

-"Oh, for the love of all that’s good," you muttered under your breath.

-The situation was straightforward, yet utterly absurd.

- You, a university teacher, found yourself at a costume party with a Bridgerton theme.

- After hastily getting ready at your friend’s place, it dawned on you that you had forgotten your house key.

-Sure, crashing at your friend's was an option, but you had a furry friend waiting at home who needed your attention.

-So, off you went, driving back to the only place your keys could be: the teacher's offices at the university.

- Picture this: you, clad in an 18th-century outfit, a fake wig teetering on your head, and a petticoat swishing around, all the while cursing your luck and hoping no students would spot you.

-Finally, you reached the office, finding it deserted. You located your keys and—

-"Quite the accurate ensemble, I must say."

-You froze, turning to find a man with a rather impressive beard. "Um, I can explain?"

-"Are you a student?" he asked.

-"No need to butter me up; I know I don't exactly look like one," you confessed.

-He chuckled. "Sorry, I was just trying to give you an out. You know, student parties and whatnot."

-"Thanks, but yeah, I'm the… new teacher. Guess we haven't crossed paths yet. Been here about a month," you said, extending your hand.

-"Well, isn't this a fortunate coincidence?" he remarked.

-"How so?"

-"I’m John Price," he revealed.

-Your eyes widened. Oh, crap. You just met THE history teacher of the campus dressed as a Bridgerton character. What were the odds?

-He laughed. "Nice to meet my new colleague. Heard quite a bit about your work."

-"Likewise, and… sorry about the attire," you apologized.

-"No need. It suits you. Makes me feel like a proper gentleman seeing someone dressed like that," he said with a grin.

-You chuckled nervously. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Price."

-Little did you know, your next class for the first year was a shared one with him. Dodging him might not be as simple as you thought.

NIKOLAI as a F1 pilot :

-Your friend's desperate plea over the phone stirred something in you.

-"Alright, I'll come help with the shoot," you conceded, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension.

-As you arrived at the location, taking in the serene surroundings, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place among the bustling crew.

-Your specialty lay in capturing the untamed beauty of animals—dogs, cats, and the like.

-This commercial setup felt like a far cry from your usual stomping grounds.

-Engaging in conversation with the staff about the artistic direction, you couldn't help but notice the artificiality of the setting, with fake plants and trees surrounding you.

-Nevertheless, you settled in, adjusting lights and preparing for the task at hand.

-"The model is here," an assistant announced, drawing your attention to the center of the room where a man stood, completely naked.

-"Why is he naked?" you whispered in disbelief, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks.

-"It's for the charity event, featuring naked pilots for calendars," the staff explained casually, oblivious to your discomfort.

-Stunned, you turned to your friend, silently questioning her decision to involve you in this unconventional endeavor.

-"I photograph nature and animals, not... naked humans!" you protested, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

-"Well, technically, you photograph a big snake," she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eye.

-You rolled your eyes, suppressing a sigh. "Ugh, don't even mention his...thing, please."

-"I don't mind being called an anaconda," the man interjected with a smirk, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart race.

-Caught off guard by his boldness, you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of his proximity.

- "Sir, I'm sorry, but I wasn't warned about these... circumstances," you stammered, struggling to maintain composure.

-"I understand. If we need to reschedule, no problem, Солнышко ," he reassured, his voice low and soothing, sending shivers down your spine.

-"What did you just say?" you asked, unable to hide the hint of fluster in your tone.

-"Sorry, I meant no problem to reschedule, sunshine," he clarified, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

-"But you're... a star?" you questioned, feeling a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

-"I'm a well-known F1 pilot, yes. But I'm closer to retirement than those young ones. I doubt people would buy the calendar for me," he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, his vulnerability tugging at your heartstrings.

-"I'd certainly buy it for you," your friend chimed in, breaking the tension with a playful grin.

-He laughed, his gaze lingering on you with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. "And you?"

-"I... maybe? Okay, we'll do it, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm more accustomed to animals, so..." you trailed off, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of working closely with him.

-"Let's get started," he suggested, his smile softening the edges of the room and easing your nerves.

-And so, the shoot commenced, with Nikolai proving to be a surprisingly adept model, effortlessly charming everyone with his wit and charisma.

- As you directed him through the poses, you couldn't help but notice the subtle tension between you, a magnetic pull that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

-"Thanks for today. Need a ride?" he offered, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

-"No, I came in my car," you replied, torn between the desire to stay and the need to escape the overwhelming atmosphere.

-"The red one?" a staff member inquired, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling between you.

-"Yeah, why?" you asked, feeling a knot form in your stomach at the thought of your car.

-"Sorry, mate, your car got impounded," they informed you, their words puncturing the bubble of tension that had enveloped you.

-You sighed, feeling a sense of defeat wash over you. "So, a ride?" Nikolai offered, his gaze softening with concern.

-"Yeah, I guess. What a crappy day," you muttered, cursing your luck.

-"Don't say that, it was great," he insisted, his voice gentle and reassuring.

-You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude towards him for his unexpected kindness. In his car, as he drove you away from the chaos of the shoot, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you, a feeling that was only amplified by his soothing presence.

-"Not what you were expecting, huh?" he remarked, his tone playful yet sincere.

-"Well, I wasn't expecting a race car drive, but yeah," you chuckled, feeling the tension between you slowly dissipating.

-"I drive safely. Sometimes you need low adrenaline," he explained, his words resonating with you in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

-"Thanks again for the ride," you said, turning to him with a smile that felt more genuine than any you had worn all day.

-"No problem. I mean, you've seen me naked, so..." he trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

-"Yeah, sure," you laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you at the playful banter.

-"If you want, you can still come to one of my races," he offered, his gaze lingering on you with a hopefulness that sent a flutter of excitement through your chest.

-"I'll think about it," you replied, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at your lips as you contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead.

ALEX as a lawyer :

-You couldn't believe your eyes.

-A client was after you for a cup of tea—yes, you heard that right, a freaking tea!

-The same tea you accidentally spilled during a chaotic rush, and she tripped you with her feet, claiming you scalded her with hot tea. The kicker?

-You knew it was iced tea.

- But it was your word against hers, and she had a squadron of lawyers ready to pounce, while you were broke. It was pretty clear how this would end.

-You sighed, resorting to searching for lawyers online, but all you found were scams.

-One promised to chase after dead people, another claimed you'd make thousands just by being pretty, and the rest boasted about defending infamous criminals with laughably bad Photoshopped images.

-Feeling desperate, you reluctantly agreed when your mom mentioned your cousin knew someone who knew someone. You certainly didn't expect a model-lawyer showing up at your doorstep with a bright smile and legal expertise.

-"Hi, I'm Alex," he offered his hand.

-"Hi, I guess you know about my... case?" you replied.

-"Yes, there's a high chance of her winning since similar cases have ruled in favor of people like her. Remember the McDonald's hot coffee incident?" he explained.

-"So I'm screwed?" you muttered.

-"Not necessarily. I can prove she's acting out of self-interest."

-"...before you say anything, you know, I can't... afford it?" you interjected.

-"Yes. I... I used to be a prominent lawyer. Perhaps you've heard of the Shepherd case?" he mentioned.

-"The CEO who got off the hook despite everyone knowing he committed tax fraud?" you recalled.

-"Yes, I was his lawyer," he admitted.

-"Oh," you murmured, taken aback.

-"I... I'm not proud of the people I've defended. I didn't realize the harm I was causing to victims. For me, everyone deserved representation, but when I saw what Shepherd did with his ill-gotten gains... I couldn't continue down that path. I signed up to advocate for people. Not evil," he confessed.

-"So you took on lost causes like me?" you mused.

-"You could say that," he smiled.

-"Well, it sounds like Daredevil. Maybe I'll catch you wearing a latex suit at night while fighting crime," you joked.

-"You might be onto something there," he replied, his expression serious.

-"Wait, you're joking?" you asked, but he didn't crack a smile.

-"Mr. Keller, you're joking, right?" you pressed, but he just smirked.

-"Let's focus on your case," he redirected.

-"You can't just dodge my question. I need to know—" 

-"Boxing. I box at night, nothing illegal. I train kids, and I've competed in the past," he confessed.

-"I see. Why do I find that hard to believe?" you teased.

-"I'm a damn good liar. I'm a lawyer," he retorted.

-"Fair point," you chuckled.”well at least I believe in the latex suit at night”

-“Kinky”he joked, you smiled.

-Alex got down to business, helping you devise a strategy.

-Maybe with this super lawyer on your side, you stood a chance. Yet, you couldn't shake the curiosity about his secrets. Who knows what uncovering them might bring?

KÖNIG as a baker :

-König had just opened his bakery.

- Eager to be neighborly, he sent some cookies to the local shops nearby.

- However, when his customers arrived one day, one of them expressed hesitation: "You know, I was hesitant to buy here because I heard you made the florist down the street sick."

-König couldn't believe his ears.

- Ashamed, he double-checked his ingredients, but everything seemed fine.

-So, he decided to switch things up and bake some croissants instead.

-Yet, the next day brought news that the florist had fallen ill due to food poisoning.

-Determined to make amends, König sent something different the following day.

-And the pattern repeated itself. After a week of this, he finally decided to confront the florist.

-Entering their cute shop, he whispered nervously, "Hallo."

-"Hi," you replied.

-"I'm König, the—"

-"The baker," you interrupted.

-He froze.

-Well, he certainly hadn't made a good impression.

-After seven incidents, he couldn't expect a warm reception, but he hoped you’d understand he hadn't done it intentionally. He wasn't a villain.

-"I'm sorry about the pastries," he began, "I swear I don't know what went wrong. Other shops ate them and had no issues. I—"

-"I know you're not trying to poison me," you interjected.

-"Oh, but... then why?" he asked.

-"I thought someone would have told you, maybe Horangi, the chef at the restaurant. But I'm lactose intolerant. I assumed you knew, so I ate your pastries thinking someone had informed you. Then, I realized that wasn't the case. But if I didn't eat your gift, you might have thought I was upset with you, so I still ate them, and—"

-"It was a misunderstanding," König finished their sentence.

-"Two anxious people overthinking things, but yeah," you admitted, laughing.

-"I promise to bake you something lactose-free," he vowed.

-"Thanks, it'll be appreciated. Your pastries were good, just not for my digestive system," you replied.

-He nodded and returned to his bakery, pondering the idea of introducing gluten and lactose-free versions of his pastries. Surely not because of the cute florist who seemed to visit more often now. Nah.

RUDY as a librarian :

-You were a young journalist, eager to dive into investigative reporting, but your editor relegated you to the local sports section since you were the new kid on the block.

- It wasn't exactly your passion, but you made the best of it. Your current assignment: write about Rodolfo Parra, a former boxer.

-Avoiding the internet due to its unreliable nature, especially for local stories, you opted for the library.

- As you searched for information on Parra, a man approached.

-"Need a hand?" he offered.

-You glanced at his badge, confirming his name as Rudy.

-"Yeah, I'm digging up info on the boxer Rodolfo Parra. I heard his early days were at the local club, so I figured the archives might have something," you explained.

-Rudy smiled. "Rodolfo Parra, huh?"

-"Yeah, you know him?"

-"You could say that, but I've heard he's not too keen on journalists."

-"Exactly why I couldn't land an interview," you sighed.

-"But why write about him? He retired two years ago," Rudy questioned.

-"My boss wants it, so here I am," you replied with a hint of resignation.

-"I've got some info, but can I trust you?" Rudy hesitated.

-"Absolutely, I'll respect his privacy. I just want to know his story, his struggles. I've heard rumors about a fixed fight where a coach, El Sinombre, forced him to lose," you shared.

-Rudy's expression darkened. "It was more than that. I'm surprised you know about it."

-"I've delved into El Sinombre's dealings before. I wanted to write for investigative reporting," you confessed. "I found it odd that a sports club had ties to a pharmacy."

-"They developed stimulants to win fights, and more... potent substances," Rudy revealed.

-"So Rodolfo lost to a doped-up opponent?" you concluded.

-"Yeah. Rumor has it, El Sinombre threatened his family if he didn't comply. Rodolfo vowed never to lose, so El Sinombre took matters into his own hands..." Rudy trailed off.

-"And Rodolfo ended up paralyzed," you finished solemnly.

-"Yeah, but with rehab, he's probably walking now. But he can't fight anymore," Rudy confirmed.

-"Having your dreams crushed like that must be devastating. A fighter silenced," you mused.

-"Maybe it was for the best," Rudy countered.

-"You think so?" you questioned.

-"Boxing isn't a lifelong career. Maybe retiring was a blessing," he reasoned.

-"I don't know, having your dreams shattered like that... it must take a toll. Imagine if someone burned down your library," you countered.

-"Well, this library was my backup dream, so I'd just have to find another," he quipped.

-You nodded, then realization dawned. "Your backup dream?"

-"Yeah," Rudy admitted. "Rudy for Rodolfo. Not the smartest move for a future investigative journalist, huh?"

-"Hey! You—yeah, I was naïve, but you could've given me a heads-up," you teased back.

-"Now, tell me about your boss. Things might be more complicated than we thought," Rudy suggested.

-"Do you think El Sinombre is after you?" you pondered.

-"We'll find out," he replied cryptically.

-Maybe your beat would evolve over time...

If you want more : my masterlist

I still need to write Alejandro, Lasswell and Farah, maybe in a next part with other characters :) !

[bitterrfruit]

already FERALLL at this assistant concept more please

omg...... i'm so sorry for this. can you tell i'm ovulating? somebody sedate me please

[he wants a word with you]

Your boss is a prick and a cunthound. You need this job. here's [part 1] for some John POV Executive John Price x EA f!Reader 18+ mdni - 2.5k words - cw: degradation, free use, maybe dubcon?

You follow Mr Price down the stuffy corporate corridor, with your swollen heart in your throat. 

What did you do wrong this time?

Was there an email you failed to send? A meeting you forgot to book? Maybe you saved a document in the wrong place. Maybe you missed one of your many deadlines. 

You watch his besuited back, broad and tall, the billow of his open jacket as he marches ahead of you with long and aggravated strides. The back of his neck burns hot and red, he digs white-knuckled fingers into the angry skin as he rubs it vigorously. 

You pass the incoming traffic of other colleagues, and you see the concern in their glare when they look at Mr Price and then at you. An unspoken apology for your imminent castigation. A silent yikes.

Fuck, he’s going to fire you. Whatever you’ve done must have been catastrophic. Did you cost him profits? Did you humiliate him in front of a client?

“Did I do something wrong?” You anxiously chirp, fearful of being too loud but not wanting him to mishear you over the sheer volume of his fury. 

He doesn’t answer you. 

Instead he comes to a sudden stop, and you almost slam into him with the keen velocity of your pursuit. 

He gestures into the open door on his left, his other hand hooked on his hip under his jacket. 

“I don’t-”

“In,” he grits, lips pursed into an admonishing line, and you do not disobey him. 

With a skip you enter the room, heart thundering in your ears, and he storms in behind you. 

The stationery supply room; cupboards and shelves, full of paper and writing utensils. Atop the counter sits a guillotine cutter, open reams of white A4, a few stray cuttings littered about. On the one bare wall is a hip-height printer, one that most often fails to work. The air is dry and powdery, thick with the clinical scent of fresh paper and ink. 

Mr Price leaves the door ajar, and he wipes down his face with an open and rigid palm. 

“What is wrong with you?” He suddenly blurts, his interrogative glare shoots straight through you. 

His eyes are wide and angry, and you shuffle on your feet, fidget with your fingers. “What did I do?” 

He only steams ahead with his reprimand - closing in on you, heavy step by heavy step, you stagger backwards on instinct. “Slobbering all over that fuckin’ pen. Christ. Are you trying to drive me crazy?” 

Your back hits the wall behind you, it pushes a puff of nervous air from your open lips. Eyes fluttering between his, you choke on any words you think to offer him. 

“I - I don’t - pen? - I didn’t-”

“What more can I do?” He growls, cranes his head to close the distance, “How far away do I have to put you?” 

You suck deep a quivering breath as you blink up at him, his head a foot above yours and his body all but trapping you where you stand. 

“I don’t understand,” you whimper. “What am I doing wrong?”

He huffs like a bull. “You’re fuckin’ killing me, love.” 

You feel your mouth water when he calls you that. It makes your cheeks glow strawberry red. 

“What can - what do you want me to do?” You ask timidly, sweetly - you want so desperately to please him. You can’t lose this job. You can’t have him disappointed in you. 

He rubs his jaw with a straining hand, his murky eyes rake from your lips and linger on the faintest bit of cleavage in the collar of your button down. 

“I want you to turn around.”

His order is uttered dark and hoarse, so low that you feel the vibrations of his voice from where you stand. 

Your lips part gently, bottom lip trembling as you swallow under his heated glower. 

But you do as you’re told. You’re a good listener, you can show him that.  You spin around awkwardly in the tight space between his heaving body and the wall, until you’re met with the cold white drywall against your nose. 

You hear his breathing turn ragged and animal, almost growling, it makes you sweat. You lift your arms cautiously, placing both palms flat on the wall, and stand on the very tips of your toes. 

His hands are on you, then, hasty bear claws comb over your ass and clutch the meat of your hips like you might slither away from him. He tugs you backwards and you rock on your toes, arch your back to meet his pelvis with your behind. 

You feel it, hard as iron and heavy as tungsten behind his straining trousers; he grinds his rigid cock against you, warning you with it, letting you feel the weight of it. He hunches forward, you feel his wiry beard against your cheek and his warm lips against your ear. 

“You proud o’ yourself?” He snarls, a bestial gurgle deep in his chest. “Proud of what you do to me?” 

Your heart buzzes with such speed that it makes you dizzy, turns you stupid. 

“I’m - uh - I’m not-”

You want to smack yourself for your inability to form a single sentence, a single word, as you feel his harsh fingers claw up the back of your thigh, catching in the sheer black nylon that clings to your feverish skin. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” He gnars into your skin, you feel his teeth as he speaks. “‘Course not. You’re a fuckin’ airhead, aren’t you?” 

His wide paw reaches the hem of your pencil skirt, the fabric too taut to be pulled up with ease - so he clutches the back of it with both hands, grips either side of the stiff kick pleat. 

You yelp as you feel him rip your skirt apart by the seam, the tear of the fabric shrill and ear-splitting. Your head urgently spins on your neck as you shoot a glance at the open door - muted voices of others in the office travel through the gap, blissfully unaware of your indiscretion. 

“Someone might-”

Bitten off by a gasp, his angry fists grasp at your stockings where they meet at a seam that runs down the cleft of your ass. He rips that, too, hurried and ravenous; he stretches a wide hole in the thin nylon that runs in a ladder between your legs. 

“Someone might come in.” You finally find the words, moan them out in a hasty breath like he might cut you off before you can warn him. 

He hisses; “I don’t care.”

His hand forms a blade, slicing between your legs and hooking under the gusset of your knickers; you hold your breath, sucking your lip between your teeth and biting down hard enough to draw blood. His thick fingers run along your slit, goading and mean, triggering a pathetic little whimper from your throat when you don’t have the words to plead. 

They push past your lips, dipping between your sodden folds like he’s checking the temperature before venturing any deeper. You feel him grin against your neck, beard abrasive against your sensitive skin, as he lets out a low, cruel chuff of laughter. 

“Fu-hu-huck,” he chortles, mocking, and you only let out a stifled cry as he coaxes your opening with the tips of greedy fingers. “Like being told off, do you?” 

He kisses the side of your neck in a hungry and messy suck, shivering gooseflesh crawls from his bite and down your spine. He plays with your syrup between his fingers, marvelling at the quantity, the slipperiness. 

You squeak as a single finger presses against the ring of muscle at your entrance, and pushes past it - he hooks it, drags it against your slick inner wall with a pressure that makes you grind against his hand to force it further. 

“Answer me.” 

You whine in complaint before you reply as instructed. “Yes,” you croon, writhing and eager.

He obliges you and stuffs his finger deeper, two knuckles deep, and his palm is flush with your cunt.

“Mh. You do. Fuckin’ soaked, aren’t you?” He hums deeply, hoarsely, pleased. 

He pulls his finger out of you, then, and you groan in frustrated defeat. 

“Don’t fuss, love,” he grumbles. “You’ll get your fill.” 

With your head over your shoulder, you watch in your periphery as he smears his glistening fingers down his lips, under his nose - sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean like he might savour the taste. 

“Mh,” he rasps, grins, letting the scent and flavour of your cunt fill his mouth and sinuses until it turns his shark eyes black and hungry. “Fuckin’ good.” 

You hear the leathery clinking of his belt buckle as he undoes it, the strident rip of his fly as he tears it down. A shuffle, a grunt, and his heavy cock lands against your lower back with a thump. 

You gasp, turn rigid - he runs a firm hand down your spine, rests it in the dip of your back, pushes a deeper curve in the arch. Grasps your hip and yanks it back, rams your body against his, angles your pelvis just right. 

He grabs his cock in a fist, smacks its solid against your ass like it’s a burden. 

Holds his fingers to his lips and hucks up a lump of spit, crude and dirty, you feel him smear it against your cunt as pulls your panties to the side. 

He gives no warning as he feeds his length through the hole he tore in your stockings, slides the blunt and fleshy head along your slit to coat it in the amalgam of fluids that drip from you. His tip finds its sheath, nestling between your folds and rutting against your tight opening as if to taunt you. 

With a hoarse growl he bucks his hips, his cock breaks through your entrance and rams deep into your cunt with a single thrust. It forces a wet and mewling cry from your throat, forgetting that the door to the room is open and freely accessible to anybody you work with. 

“Shh-sh-sh,” he hisses, he undoes his tie with a single hand as the other keeps your hips tight against him. 

He ruts again, somehow deeper still, and you let out a sore yelp - but he shuts you up, stifles your crying as he packs his steel-blue tie into your open mouth. Stuffs the silk fabric behind your teeth until no more will fit, and your saccharine noises are dampened into muffled whimpers. 

“Tha’s better. Fuck,” he curses through teeth. “Can barely fuckin’ fit in that little cunt of yours.”

His hand holds your throat, then, and the other controls your hip with vicious strength - and he fucks you in earnest. Fucks you hard and hostile, the round head of his cock hammers your aching cervix as if he could fuck past it. Fucks you like he’s angry, like he has been eagerly waiting for each forceful thrust - pent up since he met you, fuel only added to the flame every day that you came to work. 

The tie in your mouth is sopping wet with your keening saliva, your eyes well with tears of some twisted rapture - you want to tell him it hurts, but not to tell him to stop. 

“You take it good, don’t you? Found one fuckin’ thing you’re good at, eh?”

You whimper. You like him mean, don’t you? You like him angry. 

You spilled that tea on purpose. You deliberately missed that deadline. You talk loudly because you know it frustrates him. You suckle on that pen because you know he wishes it were his cock. 

His heavy hand clutches your wrist and pins it to the wall in front of you, and you feel light on your feet. The hole in your stockings only tears bigger with each thrust, you can hear the fabric of your pinstripe skirt rip further up the back; likewise, your cunt stretches to fit him to the hilt, the delicate skin threatening to tear as he splits you open. 

With a final rut, pounding hard into your womb, he bites down on the tendinous flesh of your neck and growls into your skin, chuffs out of his nose like a grizzly; “Fuck.”

You feel his cock twitch and surge as he pumps his come deep into you, it overflows - it dribbles down the cleft of your cunt, down your thighs, soaks into the sheer polyester of your stockings. Didn’t think, or didn’t bother to ask if you were on birth control - it doesn’t matter to him. Your cunt is as much his as your livelihood, and he’ll fill it with his come if he pleases. 

He leans his weight against you as he recharges, panting and spent, he rests his forehead against the back of your head. 

“Mh,” he huffs, “fuckin’ needed that.” 

You exhale all the air you had been holding in a breathy whine, cunt still aching and fluttering around the cock stuffed inside it, clit swollen and eager for any ounce of attention. He pays it none - only came to take, no time or interest in giving. 

He pulls his tie out of your mouth in one long rope, it drags a string of glistening saliva with it. 

“I’m-” you breathe furtively, mouth free, “I’m glad I could help.”

He pants out a laugh, deep and gravelly, places a drained kiss into your hair. 

“Help you did,” he assures you, amused and sated. “Next time I want to see all of you. Hear me?” 

“Next time?” You ask timidly. 

He pulls his cock out of you, and the spate of hot come he plugged inside comes out in a gush and soaks your already damp knickers. 

“Aye,” he grunts, tucking his semi-hard cock back into his boxers, insouciantly doing up his belt. “You’d like that, eh?”

You swallow a weary breath, push yourself from the wall and try to shimmy down what’s left of your skirt to conceal the mess he made underneath. 

“I - um,” you hesitate, embarrassed, you tuck a piece of hair that had been fucked astray behind your ear. “I would.” 

A devilish grin stretches in his lips, sharp teeth, as he loops his wet tie under his collar and does it up neatly - as neatly as he can, while it’s covered in the damp splotches of your spit. 

“‘Atta girl.” With a domineering hand he grabs your jaw, tugs your head upward and meets your lips with a single hard kiss. Smiles at you with praise. “Knew you were a slut.”

“I’m n-”

“Head home for the day, will you, love,” he orders rakishly, smoothing out his pale blue button down. “Important meeting. Can’t have any more distractions. Understood?” 

“Yes,” you comply with a simple nod. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mr Price.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

[byuntrash101]

Partition

reader x dom!mingi ft. jongho

smut | nsfw | mdni

husband!mingi,he's obessessed with you, nipple play, hint of body worship if u squint, praising, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cameo!jongho, marking, pet names, orgasm control, size kink, fingering with rings on, hand kink, im obessesed with his hands just leave me alone

requested | part of my 2023 prompt event [closed]

finally back from a long business trip your husband takes you to a very nice date to celebrate. but after so long apart you are not sure you can keep your hands to yourself on your way to the restaurant

[❛i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know.❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK 🖤

Inspired by Partition by Beyoncé

Took forty-five minutes to get all dressed up

We ain't even gonna make it to this club

Being married to Song Mingi, the extremely successful music producer, came with a price. And that price was time. Mingi’s time was a rare resource and extremely valuable. One day working with the Weeknd on his next album, the next day negotiating to sign with Beyonce. He was always traveling and working. 

But despite all of that your husband always made sure you were his top priority and that you knew about it. Whether he would take you around the world with him and catch a nice vacation for the both of you after an intense business trip or he would make sure to take you out to a very nice date on his return.

This time it was the latter. Mingi had been gone for a while. He had to postpone the flight back to Korea a couple of times to get the job done in LA. But finally that was out of the way and he was back to you. 

The timing was so tight that it was to the point where he didn’t have time to come home before the date and was just going to pick you up with his chauffeur. He didn't tell you where you were going but he said “to be prepared to be blown away”.

And coming from him that meant a lot. Mingi liked nice things and he always opted for the very best regardless of the price. So knowing that about him you knew the occasion will be anything but modest.

You opted for a lilac designer night gown, with a delicately beaded corsage that complimented your neckline, dipping just low enough. The bottom of the dress was flowy, a gradient color from lilac color to a nude. The material was flowy with light feathers and mesh. It was gorgeous and grandiose. Like the promise of this night finally reunited with your husband.

Your make up was along the line of the dress. Nude with some pop of color on the lids and on the lips. Noticeable but elegant.

When the doorbell rang you felt your stomach tighten. You were nervous. After all these years he still made your guts stir with anticipation. There’s no denying you’re head over hills for this man.

You run to the entryway, grabbing your clutch on the way and open the big mansion door.

When you look up at him you see him as dashing as ever. Cladded in a haute couture black tuxedo. Long ash blonde hair slicked back, just a single strand curved on his forehead. He looked dapper. He held out his hand for you to climb down the front steps to his arm, making sure not to injure yourself with your stiletto heels.

“You’re absolutely stunning," he said, kissing you softly on the lips, his mouth being pulled in the signature half smile that you loved so much.

He opened the door of the limo for you and helped you get in with the dress, setting you in comfortably.

The chauffeur did the same to him and took place behind the wheel. 

Mingi gave him instructions on the destination. Your husband was used to bossing people around and it put you in a different mood to hear his stern voice.

You couldn’t help but to want him to boss you too. It was your turn and you couldn't stand one more second of him giving his attention to anybody other than you.

So you let your hand rest on his knee. At first he makes nothing of it and continues to guide the chauffeur around the traffic jam. So you let your hands glide up his thick muscular thigh all the way to his crotch. When your pinky brushes against his sensitive area you stop.

“What are you doing?” Mingi interrupts himself to look at you. Even though it’s a question it’s rhetorical because he knows damn well what you are doing.

“Kiss me” you answered in a feverish tone.

Mingi obliged when you pulled him by his tie. His huge frame towering over you as you felt miniscule, vulnerable and turned on. Your hands started to roam his body through his attire first the thighs then the abs then when you were about to reach his growing bulge he caught your hand.

“Shouldn’t we eat before we get to the dessert?” he lightly chuckles at your enthusiasm. You sighed deeply, visibly annoyed.

What a joykill.

“Fine!” you pouted, sitting yourself back. “But I'm not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.” you added in a slightly teasing tone.

Mingi’s expression instantly changed. From the light hearted chuckles to the cold and serious eyes that held so much power over you. The turn in his behavior and in his aura was obvious. From loving husband to sex deprived pervert.

He started to wrestle with your dress, lifting it up to testify of the truth of your statement and you squealed in surprise when you found yourself exposed like that without a heads up. Your husband let go of the flowy fabric, hiding your intimacy again behind the numerous linings and looked at you in disbelief.

“You are actually serious”

“Of course I am” you bite back hurriedly flattening the material back in place.

“Fuck baby” Mingi burried his face in the crook of your neck, his deep voice merely a low rumble soaked with lust hitting you right in the chest, tightening your stomach in knots of anticipation. You knew this tone and what it meant.

“I was trying…” he started to kiss your neck going up to your ear. “was trying so fucking hard to behave.” He licked around your ear, wet sounds bouncing back on the low ceiling of the limo, making your arousal leak through the unguarded designer dress. 

“Trying to be a good husband, not devouring you the second I laid eyes on you” his hand dug into your waist pulling you closer to him. “But I can’t fucking win with you, can I?” he growled, unexpectedly biting your earlobe.

You were absolutely feral for him. After being separated for such a longtime the only thing you wanted was to be his. His cedarwood and orange blossom cologne was making you dizzy. Hypnotized by his deep voice. Controlled by his big hands.

He started to push your thin straps to the side. But as your chest was about to finally reveal itself to Mingi’s hungry gaze you stopped him.

“Shouldn’t we roll up the partition?” you asked, throwing one worried glance at the chauffeur that seemed a little too focussed on the road to be genuine. 

“Don’t worry I pay Jongho well enough for him to keep his mouth shut. Isn’t that right Jongho?”

“It is, Sir” the chauffeur politely responded, expressionless eyes, diligently glued to the road. 

“See?” Mingi returned with a sly smirk “Plus you know how much I love showing you off” he tipped your strap over your shoulder, revealing one of your breasts. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and knowing you were potentially being watched didn’t help one bit but somehow it felt thrilling.

Your husband pushed the other strap and soon your chest was on full display for him.

“So fucking perfect for me” he whispered immediately diving in and tasting your fiery skin on his wet tongue.

His mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teasing it, biting it and sucking it while his hand was fondling and pinching the other. Until they reached full hardness.

You whined at his every touch, barely containing yourself to beg for more, to beg for him.

“Fuck baby show it to me again” he breathed out he as prompt his chin to the dress.

You had a glance to Jongho, still as calm and focused as a meditating monk. And you lifted the dress once again. 

Mingi’s jaw dropped in awe. He always considered you as one of the seven wonders of the world. But each time he looked at you it seemed like somehow you got even more perfect.

He brought his hand to gently pull your lips apart. Uncovering the unholy and glistening mess you managed to make in such a short time.

“You’re so fucking wet for me” he sighed, biting down his bottom lip, your shimering folds putting a spell on him.

“Please Mingi” you squirmed. “Please, I want you.” 

“Good girl, asking so nicely… Just can’t say no to you”

His thumb circled over your clit, drawing a light gasp out of you. Slow and steady circles only making you gush even more. Mingi slipped one finger inside and you felt like you were melting at the end of his fingers, nails digging in the expensive leather of the limo. Your stilettos barely hanging to your toes.

“Yessss” you whined, finally getting what you’ve been craving for weeks.

“You’re sucking me in so well baby” Mingi praised before slipping a second finger in. You felt the warm metal of his wedding ring entering you and whined louder.

“Please…faster” you asked, short of breath, your mind getting hazy.

“Of course, my princess” 

He curled his fingers right into your sweet spot, circling it a couple of times before pumping in and out of you.

His big hands were experts at making you come undone for him, ravaging you in the most pleasant of ways. He knew you like the back of his hand and you couldn't help but to shamelessly moan and every thrust of his wrist.

“That's it baby. We want to hear you squeal” his lustful voice whispered.

We? 

You glanced over at the chauffeur again and this time you could have sworn you made eye contact in the rearview mirror while his face was briefly shone under the pacing street lights but… did you imagine that?

“Hmmm baby” Mingi smacked his lips. “You really like giving a good show, huh?” Mingi smirked as he felt you becoming tighter. “Such a good girl for me.” He pumped in and out at a faster pace. A pace that he knew would end you. But since he hadn’t uttered the magic words yet you held it in.

It took everything you had to not cum on the spot. You tried to not think about your husband's lustful eyebrow raises and lip bites, about the unholy squelching wet sounds your wet cunt was producing, about the wandering eyes of Jongho in the front seat. You tried so hard but you were on the verge of exploding.

“Pleaseee” you desperately begged as a last cry for help, a last hopeless request for your release.

“Go ahead my princess” Mingi whispered, administering the fatal blow as his thumb went back to drawing fast circles on your hyper sensitive clit while finger fucking you into oblivion. 

“Cum. Now.” his stern low voice ordered.

You instantly came undone. Your pussy gripping around your husband’s beautiful long fingers, stretching you to perfection. Your nectar flowing out of your like a river as you cried out in bliss, throwing your head back on the head rest, eyes rolling back into your skull with fatal joy.

Mingi gradually slowed down, allowing you to come off your high before pulling his digits out of you. You crashed your lips on his not caring about the state of your lipstick and started to fidget with the buttons of his vest but he started to chuckles into the kiss.

“Babe, we’re here” he said, pushing his messy hair back.

“What already?” you pouted in disappointment.

“We’ve been in the car for almost 45 minutes” your husband chuckled again.

“But I…”

“Let’s go baby or they might give our table away… Let's eat and on the way back I'll let you return the favor. How about that?” your eyes darted to his constricted bulge, lips burning at the idea of tasting him.

“Find a parking spot and wait for us, Jongho… I have a feeling we won’t be long”

“Yes, Sir”

A/N: oof sorry for taking so long to update! my first mingi smut did you like it?? leave a comment or drop by my asks. feedback is always appreciated <3

[rosedere]

Murder Mountain

(Yandere Azul Ashengrotto x Afab Reader)

Modern AU

TW: Dark Content, Attempted Murder, Harassment, Non Con/Rape.

Part 1, Part 2 (You are here), Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Cross Posted on AO3.

Part 2 Summary:

Azul and you take a trip into the mountains; Little do you know Azul has his own agenda.

-

Can you take me to northern California

Where the grass is greener

Can you make me dissappear

Be my puppeteer

Don't you leave again

-

You really didn't expect to get this far

literally and figuratively.

Arriving at the gated estate full of pine trees and golden fences, on the tall menacing gate before you was a entry buzzer, roughly, you pressed the button, a ring resounding from the buzzer on the outside post was heard echoing around the woods.

You weren't expecting to immediately be let in, the dark metallic gates opening before you effortlessly.

Pausing you looked around cautiously; no way your boss just let you in.

But you couldnt back down now was what encouraged you to walk up the winding driveway leading past the numerous gardens and waterways connecting to a massive renaissance fountain in the center of the estate further back.

Keeping your eyes peeled for any witnesses it seemed his sprawling estate was deserted.

Only after a few more minutes of walking, you made it to the illustserous main house.

You knew him being a multi billionaire would entail a huge house, but not to the extent of having a house as big as a small town.

At the doorstep, you observed his three doorway poarch the doors were made of a see-through glass with frosted tint coating said doors. Being able to see the interior of his spiraling house with dark wooden floors and almost minimal walls but nothing more without walking up to the door to look in.

Taking note of the garage next to the doorway along with a ten foot tall ornamental tree, you notived the massive garage was open with a several expensive cars sitting there,ominously, lined up in order of price most likely.

Noting Azul was no where to be found you approached the door in the middle looking for, something, to announce your presence.

Finally you spotted a doorbell, quickly you went to where the smart doorbell was.

you had your finger extended but before you could ring he doorbell, a hand was firmly pressed onto your shoulder.

With a hard swallow, you retracted your hand.

Turning, you were met with your enemy.

Azul Ashengrotto.

"No need for that, I'm already ready to depart"

You only looked stoic at him.

"You said you'd be here 30 minutes ago," He replied in his usual business tone.

Azul was wearing an expensive camping long-sleeve shirt you'd seen at designer sports stores, almost as much as your rent was if you had to make a guess was what he wore on his body along with matching hiking khakis.

It almost seemed like he was dressed up for someone.

Other than that, he didn't look noticeably different from how you'd normally see him in the office.

Including his scowl that was practically oozing discomfort.

Focus (name).

"just traffic, the walk up from where I parked didnt help either," you shrugged hoping your answer would appease him.

Not like you cared for his response, though.

waiting for a snide remark about your outfit or about your flimsy excuse it was silent for way too long.

Looking over at your boss instead of seeing him disgusted you watched him look you up from head to toe.

"it seems you decided to dress more feminine today" azul smirked, "it looks good on you I can actually see your body more in detail"

If only there wasnt so many cameras and possible witnesses out of sight...

Before you could stay angry however, he tossed you a black rectangular item, looking closer you realized it was a Electric car key.

Of course, he's rich enough to have a keyless car.

Azul walked off towards a car parked the furthest in the garage, looking in the back of the trunk you could see almost ten bags of god knows what stacked neatly in the deep trunk bed.

Thank god he did; easier to hide your lucky bag.

You load your "bag" into his trunk with hesitancy, loading it into the back of all the luggage so it wouldn't be of note to him or anyone looking through the trunk if the worst case scenario occurs.

"Is that all you brought?" Azul abruptly says from behind you causing a flinch from you.

He probably only was watching to make sure you didnt steal his luggage.

"It didn't seem necessary to bring much," you murmured, closing the trunk you walked towards the drivers side.

You got inside as fast as you could into the car first almost about to put the key inside when you realized Azul was still outside.

He seemingly was looking through his luggage off course confirming your earlier suspicions.

Ignoring him, you looked for the start button eventually finding it next to the console.

Pressing the ignition button, a jolt of worry from this morning stung you.

Why was this going too well?

Does he know I'm going to get my long-desired revenge?

Maybe this is a set up he probably is going to lure me there and Jade and the police will be waiting to-

"Never driven a car like this before or what?" Azul mocked this from his side in the passenger seat as he started buckling himself in closing the door with a hard slam.

"It's automatic; all you do is press the screen twice, put your location in, and then you steer once every 30 minutes," he explained, idly combing his finger into his hair seemingly in his own little world.

The mountain specifically.

You grabbed the steering wheel after you entered the directions to the campsite.

"Now drive"

-

The first 2 hours of the drive, nothing eventful happened, which intensified your sense of dread that kept sticking to you.

You tried to preoccupy your mind with softball, Jade, and your boyfriend. Azul was looking out the windows or would check his phone and fidget with it for moments at a time.

If you really focused on the winding roads that led the two of you deeper into the evergreen sea of trees, it almost felt like he wasn't there.

Until the beginning of hour 3.

You had been focusing on directing the bulky steering wheel getting it to turn on the windy passage up the mountain when you felt something weird.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Your hands around the steering wheel tightened.

Looking over pretending to fix the mirror was when you saw Azul.

Azul had been staring at you.

You looked again through your peripheral vision.

A pair of cerulean peered back towards you.

You had no idea what was behind his locked on stare, it was more annoying to you seeing him gawking at you if anything.

"You seem tired (name)"

Oh here it comes...

"Do you want me to drive?" Azul asked as he shifted his position from his seat.

He was now facing you directly with the same sickening look on his face to receive from someone who'd been cruel to you for so many years.

"Why do you ask Mr. Ashengrotto? We're almost there, but if you need to stretch, there's several rest stops and one gas station before we get to our destination," you gripped the steering wheel harder.

The mask is back on.

"Im merely suggesting so you can have enough..."

Suddenly his hands curled around your clothed thigh before vigorously kneading it.

"Energy for later," Azul smiled his gaze now looking up your side profile again.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine, Mr. Ashengrotto."

"Azul"

Azul then placed his hand onto your thigh giving it a gentle squeeze.

The discomfort was unbearable.

But you reassured yourself you had approximately 1 hour, 40 minutes, and 50 seconds to get ready for the next and last phase of your plan for revenge.

-

Out of the sea of evergreen trees you both found yourselfs surrounded by canyons and revines alongside occasional thick redwood trees and a few meadows scattered about.

10 feet to your destination.

A vast clearing overlooked a ravine that would lead up to one of the mountain structures besides the campground, and behind the cute little wooden cabins lining the rough rocky road was a unmistakable towering mountain.

The oppressive nature it had was hauntingly beautiful; you had to admire it from all sides in your mind.

The familiar camping ground your company always had events at was finally right in front of you.

You awkwardly parked the car next to the first cabin reserved for Mostro Inc.

Furthest from all the cabins...

Turning the ignition off, Azul immediately got out and walked towards the cabin, stretching and eventually reaching for his phone to call someone you couldn't quite pick up.

Good. 

You watched him disappear, guessing Azul wanted to go to the cabin to see if it was to his taste.

Hastily, you popped the trunk and grabbed some of his bags, noticing most were arranged differently from before.

You knew he would scold you if he didnt have access to his bag for a few moments too long.

Grabbing the expensive hard case luggage two at a time you began to approach the open door.

Step

Step

Step

You entered the cabin to reveal it to be an ordinary cabin.

Definitely worn from the conditions it would face from various seasons, but it had a touched-up quality to it, with a very comfortingly decorated entrance way leading to a small kitchen and living room full of cute camping decorations reminiscent of a cozy fall cottage.

To the right was a presumed guest room, which only had a full-sized bed with a whole antique wardobe, a bedside lamp, and one small window. On the opposite side of the hallway was the actual master bedroom of sorts.

It had a queen-sized bed with a built-in closet and bathroom you were about to further inspect it when you unexpectedly caught him walking out of the bathroom.

With something in his hands, one hand had something that was reminscent of...

Personal lubricant the label read.

His other hand contained a few pills you didnt recognize.

Weird.

"Mr- I mean Azul. I have some bags here"

"I'm not sure if you want me to get the rest of your luggage or-"

You held up the luggage youd brought hoping you could dash away from whatever was happening in front of you.

"Of course" he briefly answered.

You rolled the luggage towards the door when Azul suddenly spoke.

"Actually, can you set those bags in the kitchen?"He pointed at the bags you had.

Y/N….

You thought you misheard him.

Flashing a smile you quickly walked away into the kitchen to set them by the wooden coffee table in the center of it.

You turned around to walk back out when your eye was caught on the two glasses set on the counter. It seemed as if whoever had stayed here last had left some items.

Immediately you realized what Azul was most likely doing, shaking your head in disgust at the thought of your boss using the cabins you all used as his personal getaway for his many women.

Trying to push the image of Azul having sex out of your mind you walked back outside, almost knocking yourself against the heavy lock that was on the door.

Rubbing the spot on your left side as you walked down the wooden steps to the car.

Step

Step

Step

Only about A few bags remain.

Cautiously walking inside, you didnt expect to see your boss in the kitchen. It seemed he didnt notice you enter or if he did didnt acknowledge you as you heard the sound of pouring fill the room.

The sounds of glasses clinking and cutting against a hard surface was heard but grew distant as you continued into the master bedroom.

Placing the bags next to the bed you noticed he had left a box of chocolates next to the bed.

Most likely for him to eat by himself, you snickered before carrying on making sure to avoid the lock again, you carefully opened the door and noticed a slight hesitation on the door.

Weird.

Azul must be messing with it to make sure it locks. You couldn't blame him since, once again, he was the most expensive man in the world.

You grabbed the remaining bags.

Now is the time to act...

-

After carefully concealing your "bag,” you juggle it between the heavy luggage Azul had and prayed it was camouflaged enough, walking up the steps.

Step

Step

Step

Lock.

You leave the remaining bags in the master bedroom.

Only....

That feeling of extreme dread washes over you as you drop the last luggage onto the bed.

"Y/N, would you like a drink?”

Your eyes flicked to the glass he had in his hand; Cucumber water.

"I just wanted to turn a new leaf with you (name)"

Azul took a sip out of the glass in question.

"why dont we see this trip as a way to understand each other"

You still stared at him in disbelief.

Why now would he want to become friends or anything with you now?

"Sorry, I'm not really thirsty" you turned away from him picking your "bag" off the ground.

But before you could leave he blocked the doorway.

"Just a sip" he smiled.

You knew he wasnt asking anymore.

Gingerly you grabbed the glass before putting it to your lips, His eyes watching as you let yourself consume a little swig.

Weirdly enough, you were actually parched and the cucumber was refreshing. He did drink a little bit of it anyway so you knew he didnt do anything to poison you.

Azul was still standing before you waiting for you to take another sip of the liquid. Letting your lips touch the glass once more you drank eyeing him to see when he'd move.

Except he didnt move until you had downed the whole water.

"See that wasnt so bad (name)" he gingerly grabbed your glass before setting off towards the kitchen.

You rolled your eyes before taking the "bag" to the bedroom across. Leaving your bag ontop of the bed a wave of warmth wrapped around you.

The thrill of finally being able to inact your revenge was nearly through.

You unzipped the "bag" going through the motions of unzipping it.

Until you felt yourself suddenly lose control of your arms.

And then you passed out ontop of the bed next to your items.

-

You couldnt open your eyes but you could feel your bra being unclasped.

Someone was undressing you agonizingly slow.

You tried to move your hands only to feel them heavy. Not as if you were bound but you simply couldnt pick them up.

Using your strength you opened your eyes to see.

Azul.

And the now locked master bedroom before you.

[halfmoth-halfman]

i. it's a new day, it's a new life

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: alcohol mention, (very, very brief) blood mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

If you’re on time, you’re late.

That’s what your father drilled into your head—one of his many rules for life and how it should be lived. As a kid, you hadn’t cared much about the endless rules and regulations and life lessons he tried to impart on you, but as an adult, you’ve found an appreciation for his old words of wisdom. You try to live your life accordingly—be a woman he would’ve been proud of.

Though, you suppose trying to make him proud is what got you in this situation in the first place.

Regardless, his schedule is burned into your brain, leaving you wide awake and ready to go a full two hours before your first shift at The 141. Nerves and excitement combine into a cocktail of restlessness that has you pacing the length of your motel room. It’s a short walk both ways, your feet following the already well-worn path of the dingy, frayed carpet.

When pacing doesn’t settle you, you opt to lie down. Flopping back onto the partially stained sheets of your lumpy bed to stare up at the ceiling—its popcorn surface cracked and chipped from a shoddy attempt at repairing the water damage.

This isn’t where you expected to end up—stuck in some rundown motel with nothing but the clothes on your back.

You thought you’d get much farther than this.

But with hardly any cash and a car running on empty, rival territory seemed as good a place to stop as any. At the very least, it meant you wouldn’t be followed.

If there were any rules your father was lenient on, crossing into 141 territory wasn’t one of them; everyone in your family—and anyone who was familiar with them—knew better than to disobey him.

Had he a grave, you might’ve actually visited it to give your thanks.

A stray mattress spring digs into your lower back—sharp edge scratching through your thin, black shirt and the thick denim of your jacket—pulling you from your wandering thoughts.

Might as well get a head start.

You bounce yourself into an upright position, double-checking the laces of your boots before you stand. The lights flicker when you flip the switch, flashing too bright before shutting off as you step out into crisp autumn air. You look at the door behind you, slotting your keys between your fingers to form a makeshift claw in your fist as you cross the parking lot to your car.

Your car’s in as bad shape as the room—bought used, and paid for in cash—but it gets you where you need to go, so you don’t complain. You slide into the driver’s seat—shutting the door twice because it never closes all the way the first time—and check for your duffle bag in the backseat before putting your key in the ignition. It takes a minute to start, then another to stop rattling, but you have extra time and don’t mind the wait.

The drive to the club is uneventful—too early for morning traffic—and you have another hour before you’re meant to start, so you take your time on the drive.

You park in the back this time, tucking your duffle bag under the backseat, then double and triple-checking that the doors are locked before making your way to the front of the club.

No one else appears to be inside, but the door’s unlocked, and the lights are on. You can see a small, wheeled cart full of cleaning supplies sitting near the stage that you can only guess is for you. If your watch is correct, you have a little under half an hour before you have to start. You could start now—get a jump on what you're sure is to be a busy day—or…

Your father’s armchair tales ring in the back of your head.

What was it he had said?

They paint the walls red so you can’t see the blood stains and keep the bodies in a morgue hidden behind the walk-in freezer.

You doubt there are any secret morgues, but you are curious about the rest of the interior. And it would help to be familiar with the layout before you start cleaning, right?

It takes alarmingly little to convince yourself to have a little walkabout—you always were too curious for your own good—making your way to the bar first. The stairs leading to the second floor are on the left and roped off with a thick velvet cord, so you turn your attention to the right side.

The booths don’t interest you; though the heavy curtains cover them, you know what lies behind them. There's a short hall past them that leads to a large set of double doors with glass windows that reveal part of a massive kitchen. Even from here, you can tell the countertops are polished to perfection. It almost reminds you of—

Nope.

You turn away from the kitchen, ignoring the small knot of dread and nostalgia that begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. You turn to face the stage, leaning back against the bar top. There’s a hallway to the left of the stage that winds around behind it, but there are no lights to illuminate the way, and you know better than to wander down unlit hallways.

That just leaves—

Between the booths and the hallway behind the stage are a pair of solid black double doors. Similar to the one in front of the stairs, a gold stanchion sits in front of them, but there’s no velvet cord connecting them.

You’ve got twenty-six minutes to kill.

Why not?

A small skip down the stairs and a few hurried steps, and you’re at the door, glancing to your left and right before you set a hand on the cold metal of the door handle and turn.

With a sharp click, the door sways open.

Why don’t they ever lock their doors?

You creep inside, holding the handle down to shut the door silently behind you. You’re let into a small waiting room with more double doors—this set is solid glass, save for the handles, with one door slightly askew. You take that as an invitation, waltzing through the doors with care to not leave fingerprints on the glass.

You’d have to be the one to clean them, after all.

A strange sense of nostalgia hits you as soon as you enter the office. All dark wood and luxury, you’re hit by the scent of cigars—the expensive kind your father kept in his own office but never actually smoked—with undertones of a spiced cologne. You stand opposite the desk—a spacious cocobolo covered in papers, picture frames, and a closed laptop.

The wall to your right has been converted to several overflowing bookshelves surrounding a large fireplace. The wall to your left houses a large TV and a fully stocked whiskey cabinet that stretches up to the ceiling. Plush couches sit on either side of you—two near the fireplace and one facing the wall-mounted television—matching the chairs sitting in front of the desk.

Probably shouldn’t be in here.

You ignore the desk and the alcohol, heading straight for the wall of books. There are a few you recognize, but most are unfamiliar to you. Your fingertips graze the spines, admiring the soft feel of the leather covers as you search for titles you know.

It takes a few shelves, but you manage to find one you recognize. You pluck it from the shelf without a thought—in awe at the beautiful, custom cover—but the weight of it takes you by surprise. It’s not an overly thick book, you think, balancing it in one hand to open the cover, so why is it—

The carved-out pages are a surprise.

The gun even more so.

Definitely shouldn’t be in here.

“Find something you like?”

You snap the book shut with a swiftness, holding it behind your back as you slowly turn toward the doors. A man stands in the open space, staring you down with an arched brow on his otherwise blank face.

He hadn’t been there the day before; you’re sure you would’ve remembered him if he had.

Kyle and the others had seemed friendly—if somewhat caught off-guard—but this man is all authority. Calm, intimidating authority. Gentle waves ready to pull you into the violent undertow.

Dark brown hair just beginning to grey at the temples and…unique facial hair; he stares you down with piercing blue eyes and thick arms folded across his broad chest.

You know designer when you see it.

And though he appears dressed in simple black pants and a white button-up with rolled-up sleeves, you can tell the fabric, and its quality, cost more than most anyone could afford.

He’s handsome—in a stern, professor sort of way.

“Good read?” he asks, stormy cerulean gaze dipping down to where your hands are tucked behind your back.

Oh.

That deep rasp melts into your ears, dripping into your brain to pour a fiery path down your spine and settle into a burning pit low in your belly.

“I wasn’t— I—” you stutter, struggling for words and praying he can’t see the red blooming on your face.

Calm down.

The worst he can do is kill you.

You collect yourself, opening your mouth to respond properly, but he beats you to it, “Club’s not open right now, love.”

“I work here,” you say, plastering that award-winning smile on your face. His eyes snap to yours, thick brows knitting together.

“That so?” he asks, slow and disbelieving. “And what is it you do here?”

“Clean,” you answer. You move the book-slash-gun-case to one hand so you can check your watch. “In fact, my shift starts in…two minutes and thirty-six seconds. So, I should probably…y’know…go clean.”

You take easy, deliberate steps, moving in front of the desk so you can set the book on top of it. You try to be discreet, but something about those eyes tells you not much gets past this man. You take a step forward, but he doesn’t move, standing firmly in your path.

“The new cleaner,” he sighs, uncrossing his arms to run his thumb over an eyebrow. “It’s Robin, yeah?”

“Canary, actually.” The smile does little to hide the bite in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Canary,” he says your name slowly, letting it roll off his tongue as if to get a taste of your character. “The woman my son hired with no phone and asked to be paid in cash.”

His son? Kyle?

Well…at least your boss is nice to look at.

“Yep, that would be me—” you straighten up, extending your hand out to him, “—pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Sir,” he laughs to himself—a quiet, amused huff just under his breath—and reaches out to wrap his large hand around yours. “Price. John Price.”

His handshake is firm—a little too firm in your opinion—but he’s so warm the heat from his skin sinks into your palm and spreads up your arm.

“Did Gaz go over the club rules with you when he hired you?” Mr. Price asks, holding your gaze as he shakes your hand.

“Gaz?”

“My son, Kyle.”

“Oh. No, not really.” The handshake continues through your short conversation, his hand slowly tightening around yours. You loosen your grip to pull away, but his fingers squeeze around yours.

“I won’t bore you with the details, then. But I’ll let you know the most important one.”

Shocks of pain shoot through your wrist as his hand tightens into a vice. He yanks you forward with surprising strength, and you stumble at the sudden jerk. You catch yourself before you collide with him, but you’re significantly closer—almost chest-to-chest with him.

He takes it in stride, leaning down to set his mouth near your ear. His beard scratches at your skin as the pressure from his hand begins to cut off circulation in your own.

He smells just how his office looks: all smoked wood and wealth and danger.

“You don’t come into my office. Ever. Understood?” His voice is a quiet growl in your ear—a gentle one-time forgiveness with a warning that is more promise than threat; you doubt he’s ever made a threat he wouldn’t follow through on.

A chill wracks your body.

You can’t tell if it’s from fear or inappropriate excitement.

He pulls back to look at you, ocean-hued eyes staring down into yours. You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you nod, and finally he lets go of your hand.

He brushes past you, scent lingering behind as you attempt to massage the feeling back into your palm.

“You can go home for the day. Start fresh tomorrow,” Mr. Price says casually, picking up the book you’d left on his desk and heading to return it to its place on the bookshelf. “Ghost will show you out.”

You whip around to stare at his back in confusion.

“Ghost?”

Is this place fucking haunted?

What are the ethics of employing the dead?

He looks back at you, nodding at something over your shoulder. You slowly follow his gaze, turning your head like a horror-movie protagonist.

Your nose nearly collides with an impressively solid chest. You crane your head up, searching for a face that must be attached to this solid wall of muscle and intimidation before you. How had a man that size gotten so close without a sound?

He’s dressed in solid black, this giant, every inch of skin covered from the neck down. A cloth mask rests over the bottom half of his face, white paint dried and chipping in the shape of the bottom half of a skull. His honey-brown eyes are shadowed by smudged black paint that reminds you all too much of your three-day-old eyeliner after a weekend bender. His sandy-blonde hair is cropped short, strands hanging messily over his forehead. Twin scars bisect his left eyebrow and eyelid, and pull taut as he glares down at you.

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, crushing grip wrapping around your forearm to pull you toward the door. He shoves you through it—not hard, but forceful enough for you to trip over your own feet—following directly behind you.

“See you tomorrow, Sparrow!” Mr. Price calls just as the door shuts.

Ghost follows you all the way to the parking lot, close enough for you to feel his body heat at your back at all times. He watches you get into your car, shut the door once then twice, and listens to the engine struggle to a start.

He doesn’t leave as you pull out of the lot, and you can see his shadowy form watching you in your rear-view mirror.

You get back to the motel in record time, but once you pull into a space, you can’t find it in yourself to get out. Instead, you fold your arms over the steering wheel, dropping your head on top.

“What am I doing?” you mumble, pressing your forehead into your arms.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

What are you doing?

You didn’t have to be here. You could’ve been back in the comfort of your home, lounging by one of the pools or getting ready for some fancy gala with those frilly little cakes and good wine.

But pools and galas meant skimpy bathing suits and revealing dresses; both options meant being leered at by those around you and being put down by—

Stop it.

You turn and rest your cheek on your arms, glancing behind you at the duffle bag lying on the floorboards.

It’s not ideal, where you’re at now, but it’s better than where you used to be. A small bump in the road is all this is. No one will follow you here, and you can deal with John Price and his intimidatingly handsome face for the few weeks it’ll take to get some cash under your belt so you can move on.

For now, you're safe, and that’s all you need.

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe

[bullet-prooflove]

“I'm wrapped 'round your finger like this ring I'm wearing”

With Nicholas Baxter? 👀🫶🏻🫶🏻🩵🩵

Tagging: @kmc1989 @burningpeachpuppy  @est1887 @flopiboni @wabi-sabi1090

You have Nick wrapped around your wedding finger, you know it and so does he. You’re dressed in that pretty rose silk nightdress he likes with that sultry look in your eyes and Nick, he just can’t resist you. You’re a siren and he’s one of those sailors, powerless to resist your call. He intends it to be quick, something to sate you until he can take his time later on but it’s never quick, not with you.

He's an hour late to his meeting. He turns up in a different shirt than he started the morning with because the original had gotten rumpled during your love making.

“Terrible traffic.” He tells Nolan Price as he sits down at his desk and flicks through his messages. “Every day it seems to get worse.”

He tries to pay his penance by working late but of course you have other ideas, it is your wedding anniversary after all. When you turn up at his office that evening to take him to dinner, you’re wearing the same damn shirt you made love in this morning.

It’s like Pavlov’s Bell, his cock begins to stir in his trousers and before he knows it he’s sweeping the paperwork off his desk and fucking you for a second time in nothing but that shirt.

 “I can’t deny you anything can I?” He whispers, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek in the aftermath. “You say jump and I just say how high.”

“Someone has to be the boss of you otherwise you’d work yourself to death.” You tell him, your nose trailing along his until your lips are barely touching. “Now put your coat on, you’re taking me for dinner.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[trashybread]

I'm posting this in a sleep delirium but do you kno what the cod fandom desperately NEEDS? Cliche 2015 wattpad AU fanfiction plots. You don't know how much you need it until you start thinking about it.

I need a psychiatrist Soap going into his new job at a mental asylum and meeting Ghost and other patients like gaz, price, everyone. Need makarov to be the boss. Ghost being the crazy but helping soap gain everyones trust. Need soap to start questioning if theyre actually mad because strange things keep happening and they're always right (I've been thinking about this one for days) doesn't even need to be a mental asylum, just a mental hospital. Gaz with a PICA, Ghost with psychosis or schizophrenia, price with severe OCD, roach maybe w/ cptsd so he's muted bc of it? maybe he acc got forever 14yo mentality not the infantilizing way but forever the apocalyptic phase and v sweet THEREFORE no one worries abt Talking secret matters w/ him around cuz he's basically a kid, he wont tell anything ever ... Right.

Or one where gaz finds a number in the gay bar bathroom stall (there's number and "amazing head and advices") but its a dead number so he starts venting like once a month to the voicemail and one day someone does returns. Make it spicier and its actually his neighbor. Make it even SPICIER and his neighbor KNOWS IT but it just doesn't click to gaz so now he's stuck between the phone guy "Johnathan" and his divorced neighbour Mr. Price. It all ends when he gets in big money trouble and calls Johnathan in a last hope alternative to save him and price shows up out of nowhere to get him hmmmffhfmmf

COFFEE. SHOP. ALTERNATIVE. UNIVERSE. WANNA MAKE THIS EVEN COOLER??????? SUPERNATURAL COFFEE SHOP. YEAH. Roach works in this coffee shop that actually has supernatural beings visiting but to normal human eyes it's fucking empty. The coffee shop is completely hidden unless you search for it really fucking hard and Ghost, weirdo that he is, is livid to find this empty coffee shop away from traffic and human noises. He always wonder how they can keep the business going with one client (him)

UNIVERSITY AU!!!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!!??? JOCK X NERD. ROOMMATES!!!! THEY HATE EACHOTHER BUT HAVE TO DO A GROUP PROJECT TOGETHER AND END UP GOOFING AROUND IN THE OTHERS HOUSE AND BECOME BFFS. MAKE IT ANGST BC JOCK (Sorry! Soap vibes..) DOESN'T WANT TO BE THE NERDS FRIEND AND THROWS HIM UNDER THE BUS. DON'T WANT ANGST???? MAKE IT SO JOCK STARTS ACTING LIKE A GUARD DOG AFTER THAT. MAYBE IT RUINS HIS REPUTATION BUT HE HAS HIS NOW BOYFRIEND.

COD fandom needs to tighten up! No more souless 4k pwp oneshots. Let's remember our roots.

[dailyanarchistposts]

A.3.5 What is Anarcha-Feminism?

Although opposition to the state and all forms of authority had a strong voice among the early feminists of the 19th century, the more recent feminist movement which began in the 1960’s was founded upon anarchist practice. This is where the term anarcha-feminism came from, referring to women anarchists who act within the larger feminist and anarchist movements to remind them of their principles.

The modern anarcha-feminists built upon the feminist ideas of previous anarchists, both male and female. Indeed, anarchism and feminism have always been closely linked. Many outstanding feminists have also been anarchists, including the pioneering Mary Wollstonecraft (author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman), the Communard Louise Michel, and the American anarchists (and tireless champions of women’s freedom) Voltairine de Cleyre and Emma Goldman (for the former, see her essays “Sex Slavery”, “Gates of Freedom”, “The Case of Woman vs. Orthodoxy”, “Those Who Marry Do Ill”; for the latter see “The Traffic in Women”, “Woman Suffrage”, “The Tragedy of Woman’s Emancipation”, “Marriage and Love” and “Victims of Morality”, for example). Freedom, the world’s oldest anarchist newspaper, was founded by Charlotte Wilson in 1886. Anarchist women like Virgilia D’Andrea and Rose Pesota played important roles in both the libertarian and labour movements. The “Mujeres Libres” (“Free Women”) movement in Spain during the Spanish revolution is a classic example of women anarchists organising themselves to defend their basic freedoms and create a society based on women’s freedom and equality (see Free Women of Spain by Martha Ackelsberg for more details on this important organisation). In addition, all the male major anarchist thinkers (bar Proudhon) were firm supporters of women’s equality. For example, Bakunin opposed patriarchy and how the law “subjects [women] to the absolute domination of the man.” He argued that ”[e]qual rights must belong to men and women” so that women can “become independent and be free to forge their own way of life.” He looked forward to the end of “the authoritarian juridical family” and “the full sexual freedom of women.” [Bakunin on Anarchism, p. 396 and p. 397]

Thus anarchism has since the 1860s combined a radical critique of capitalism and the state with an equally powerful critique of patriarchy (rule by men). Anarchists, particularly female ones, recognised that modern society was dominated by men. As Ana Maria Mozzoni (an Italian anarchist immigrant in Buenos Aires) put it, women “will find that the priest who damns you is a man; that the legislator who oppresses you is a man, that the husband who reduces you to an object is a man; that the libertine who harasses you is a man; that the capitalist who enriches himself with your ill-paid work and the speculator who calmly pockets the price of your body, are men.” Little has changed since then. Patriarchy still exists and, to quote the anarchist paper La Questione Sociale, it is still usually the case that women “are slaves both in social and private life. If you are a proletarian, you have two tyrants: the man and the boss. If bourgeois, the only sovereignty left to you is that of frivolity and coquetry.” [quoted by Jose Moya, Italians in Buenos Aires’s Anarchist Movement, pp. 197–8 and p. 200]

Anarchism, therefore, is based on an awareness that fighting patriarchy is as important as fighting against the state or capitalism. For ”[y]ou can have no free, or just, or equal society, nor anything approaching it, so long as womanhood is bought, sold, housed, clothed, fed, and protected, as a chattel.” [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Gates of Freedom”, pp. 235–250, Eugenia C. Delamotte, Gates of Freedom, p. 242] To quote Louise Michel:

“The first thing that must change is the relationship between the sexes. Humanity has two parts, men and women, and we ought to be walking hand in hand; instead there is antagonism, and it will last as long as the ‘stronger’ half controls, or think its controls, the ‘weaker’ half.” [The Red Virgin: Memoirs of Louise Michel, p. 139]

Thus anarchism, like feminism, fights patriarchy and for women’s equality. Both share much common history and a concern about individual freedom, equality and dignity for members of the female sex (although, as we will explain in more depth below, anarchists have always been very critical of mainstream/liberal feminism as not going far enough). Therefore, it is unsurprising that the new wave of feminism of the sixties expressed itself in an anarchistic manner and drew much inspiration from anarchist figures such as Emma Goldman. Cathy Levine points out that, during this time, “independent groups of women began functioning without the structure, leaders, and other factotums of the male left, creating, independently and simultaneously, organisations similar to those of anarchists of many decades and regions. No accident, either.” [“The Tyranny of Tyranny,” Quiet Rumours: An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, p. 66] It is no accident because, as feminist scholars have noted, women were among the first victims of hierarchical society, which is thought to have begun with the rise of patriarchy and ideologies of domination during the late Neolithic era. Marilyn French argues (in Beyond Power) that the first major social stratification of the human race occurred when men began dominating women, with women becoming in effect a “lower” and “inferior” social class.

The links between anarchism and modern feminism exist in both ideas and action. Leading feminist thinker Carole Pateman notes that her “discussion [on contract theory and its authoritarian and patriarchal basis] owes something to” libertarian ideas, that is the “anarchist wing of the socialist movement.” [The Sexual Contract, p. 14] Moreover, she noted in the 1980s how the “major locus of criticism of authoritarian, hierarchical, undemocratic forms of organisation for the last twenty years has been the women’s movement … After Marx defeated Bakunin in the First International, the prevailing form of organisation in the labour movement, the nationalised industries and in the left sects has mimicked the hierarchy of the state … The women’s movement has rescued and put into practice the long-submerged idea [of anarchists like Bakunin] that movements for, and experiments in, social change must ‘prefigure’ the future form of social organisation.” [The Disorder of Women, p. 201]

Peggy Kornegger has drawn attention to these strong connections between feminism and anarchism, both in theory and practice. “The radical feminist perspective is almost pure anarchism,” she writes. “The basic theory postulates the nuclear family as the basis of all authoritarian systems. The lesson the child learns, from father to teacher to boss to god, is to obey the great anonymous voice of Authority. To graduate from childhood to adulthood is to become a full-fledged automaton, incapable of questioning or even of thinking clearly.” [“Anarchism: The Feminist Connection,” Quiet Rumours: An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, p. 26] Similarly, the Zero Collective argues that Anarcha-feminism “consists in recognising the anarchism of feminism and consciously developing it.” [“Anarchism/Feminism,” pp. 3–7, The Raven, no. 21, p. 6]

Anarcha-feminists point out that authoritarian traits and values, for example, domination, exploitation, aggressiveness, competitiveness, desensitisation etc., are highly valued in hierarchical civilisations and are traditionally referred to as “masculine.” In contrast, non-authoritarian traits and values such as co-operation, sharing, compassion, sensitivity, warmth, etc., are traditionally regarded as “feminine” and are devalued. Feminist scholars have traced this phenomenon back to the growth of patriarchal societies during the early Bronze Age and their conquest of co-operatively based “organic” societies in which “feminine” traits and values were prevalent and respected. Following these conquests, however, such values came to be regarded as “inferior,” especially for a man, since men were in charge of domination and exploitation under patriarchy. (See e.g. Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade; Elise Boulding, The Underside of History). Hence anarcha-feminists have referred to the creation of a non-authoritarian, anarchist society based on co-operation, sharing, mutual aid, etc. as the “feminisation of society.”

Anarcha-feminists have noted that ���feminising” society cannot be achieved without both self-management and decentralisation. This is because the patriarchal-authoritarian values and traditions they wish to overthrow are embodied and reproduced in hierarchies. Thus feminism implies decentralisation, which in turn implies self-management. Many feminists have recognised this, as reflected in their experiments with collective forms of feminist organisations that eliminate hierarchical structure and competitive forms of decision making. Some feminists have even argued that directly democratic organisations are specifically female political forms. [see e.g. Nancy Hartsock “Feminist Theory and the Development of Revolutionary Strategy,” in Zeila Eisenstein, ed., Capitalist Patriarchy and the Case for Socialist Feminism, pp. 56–77] Like all anarchists, anarcha-feminists recognise that self-liberation is the key to women’s equality and thus, freedom. Thus Emma Goldman:

“Her development, her freedom, her independence, must come from and through herself. First, by asserting herself as a personality, and not as a sex commodity. Second, by refusing the right of anyone over her body; by refusing to bear children, unless she wants them, by refusing to be a servant to God, the State, society, the husband, the family, etc., by making her life simpler, but deeper and richer. That is, by trying to learn the meaning and substance of life in all its complexities; by freeing herself from the fear of public opinion and public condemnation.” [Anarchism and Other Essays, p. 211]

Anarcha-feminism tries to keep feminism from becoming influenced and dominated by authoritarian ideologies of either the right or left. It proposes direct action and self-help instead of the mass reformist campaigns favoured by the “official” feminist movement, with its creation of hierarchical and centralist organisations and its illusion that having more women bosses, politicians, and soldiers is a move towards “equality.” Anarcha-feminists would point out that the so-called “management science” which women have to learn in order to become mangers in capitalist companies is essentially a set of techniques for controlling and exploiting wage workers in corporate hierarchies, whereas “feminising” society requires the elimination of capitalist wage-slavery and managerial domination altogether. Anarcha-feminists realise that learning how to become an effective exploiter or oppressor is not the path to equality (as one member of the Mujeres Libres put it, ”[w]e did not want to substitute a feminist hierarchy for a masculine one” [quoted by Martha A. Ackelsberg, Free Women of Spain, pp. 22–3] — also see section B.1.4 for a further discussion on patriarchy and hierarchy).

Hence anarchism’s traditional hostility to liberal (or mainstream) feminism, while supporting women’s liberation and equality. Federica Montseny (a leading figure in the Spanish Anarchist movement) argued that such feminism advocated equality for women, but did not challenge existing institutions. She argued that (mainstream) feminism’s only ambition is to give to women of a particular class the opportunity to participate more fully in the existing system of privilege and if these institutions “are unjust when men take advantage of them, they will still be unjust if women take advantage of them.” [quoted by Martha A. Ackelsberg, Op. Cit., p. 119] Thus, for anarchists, women’s freedom did not mean an equal chance to become a boss or a wage slave, a voter or a politician, but rather to be a free and equal individual co-operating as equals in free associations. “Feminism,” stressed Peggy Kornegger, “doesn’t mean female corporate power or a woman President; it means no corporate power and no Presidents. The Equal Rights Amendment will not transform society; it only gives women the ‘right’ to plug into a hierarchical economy. Challenging sexism means challenging all hierarchy — economic, political, and personal. And that means an anarcha-feminist revolution.” [Op. Cit., p. 27]

Anarchism, as can be seen, included a class and economic analysis which is missing from mainstream feminism while, at the same time, showing an awareness to domestic and sex-based power relations which eluded the mainstream socialist movement. This flows from our hatred of hierarchy. As Mozzoni put it, “Anarchy defends the cause of all the oppressed, and because of this, and in a special way, it defends your [women’s] cause, oh! women, doubly oppressed by present society in both the social and private spheres.” [quoted by Moya, Op. Cit., p. 203] This means that, to quote a Chinese anarchist, what anarchists “mean by equality between the sexes is not just that the men will no longer oppress women. We also want men to no longer to be oppressed by other men, and women no longer to be oppressed by other women.” Thus women should “completely overthrow rulership, force men to abandon all their special privileges and become equal to women, and make a world with neither the oppression of women nor the oppression of men.” [He Zhen, quoted by Peter Zarrow, Anarchism and Chinese Political Culture, p. 147]

So, in the historic anarchist movement, as Martha Ackelsberg notes, liberal/mainstream feminism was considered as being “too narrowly focused as a strategy for women’s emancipation; sexual struggle could not be separated from class struggle or from the anarchist project as a whole.” [Op. Cit., p. 119] Anarcha-feminism continues this tradition by arguing that all forms of hierarchy are wrong, not just patriarchy, and that feminism is in conflict with its own ideals if it desires simply to allow women to have the same chance of being a boss as a man does. They simply state the obvious, namely that they “do not believe that power in the hands of women could possibly lead to a non-coercive society” nor do they “believe that anything good can come out of a mass movement with a leadership elite.” The “central issues are always power and social hierarchy” and so people “are free only when they have power over their own lives.” [Carole Ehrlich, “Socialism, Anarchism and Feminism”, Quiet Rumours: An Anarcha-Feminist Reader, p. 44] For if, as Louise Michel put it, “a proletarian is a slave; the wife of a proletarian is even more a slave” ensuring that the wife experiences an equal level of oppression as the husband misses the point. [Op. Cit., p. 141]

Anarcha-feminists, therefore, like all anarchists oppose capitalism as a denial of liberty. Their critique of hierarchy in the society does not start and end with patriarchy. It is a case of wanting freedom everywhere, of wanting to ”[b]reak up … every home that rests in slavery! Every marriage that represents the sale and transfer of the individuality of one of its parties to the other! Every institution, social or civil, that stands between man and his right; every tie that renders one a master, another a serf.” [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Economic Tendency of Freethought”, The Voltairine de Cleyre Reader, p. 72] The ideal that an “equal opportunity” capitalism would free women ignores the fact that any such system would still see working class women oppressed by bosses (be they male or female). For anarcha-feminists, the struggle for women’s liberation cannot be separated from the struggle against hierarchy as such. As L. Susan Brown puts it:

“Anarchist-feminism, as an expression of the anarchist sensibility applied to feminist concerns, takes the individual as its starting point and, in opposition to relations of domination and subordination, argues for non-instrumental economic forms that preserve individual existential freedom, for both men and women.” [The Politics of Individualism, p. 144]

Anarcha-feminists have much to contribute to our understanding of the origins of the ecological crisis in the authoritarian values of hierarchical civilisation. For example, a number of feminist scholars have argued that the domination of nature has paralleled the domination of women, who have been identified with nature throughout history (See, for example, Caroline Merchant, The Death of Nature, 1980). Both women and nature are victims of the obsession with control that characterises the authoritarian personality. For this reason, a growing number of both radical ecologists and feminists are recognising that hierarchies must be dismantled in order to achieve their respective goals.

In addition, anarcha-feminism reminds us of the importance of treating women equally with men while, at the same time, respecting women’s differences from men. In other words, that recognising and respecting diversity includes women as well as men. Too often many male anarchists assume that, because they are (in theory) opposed to sexism, they are not sexist in practice. Such an assumption is false. Anarcha-feminism brings the question of consistency between theory and practice to the front of social activism and reminds us all that we must fight not only external constraints but also internal ones.

This means that anarcha-feminism urges us to practice what we preach. As Voltairine de Cleyre argued, “I never expect men to give us liberty. No, Women, we are not worth it, until we take it.” This involves “insisting on a new code of ethics founded on the law of equal freedom: a code recognising the complete individuality of woman. By making rebels wherever we can. By ourselves living our beliefs . … We are revolutionists. And we shall use propaganda by speech, deed, and most of all life — being what we teach.” Thus anarcha-feminists, like all anarchists, see the struggle against patriarchy as being a struggle of the oppressed for their own self-liberation, for ”as a class I have nothing to hope from men . .. No tyrant ever renounced his tyranny until he had to. If history ever teaches us anything it teaches this. Therefore my hope lies in creating rebellion in the breasts of women.” [“The Gates of Freedom”, pp. 235–250, Eugenia C. Delamotte, Gates of Freedom, p. 249 and p. 239] This was sadly as applicable within the anarchist movement as it was outside it in patriarchal society.

Faced with the sexism of male anarchists who spoke of sexual equality, women anarchists in Spain organised themselves into the Mujeres Libres organisation to combat it. They did not believe in leaving their liberation to some day after the revolution. Their liberation was a integral part of that revolution and had to be started today. In this they repeated the conclusions of anarchist women in Illinois Coal towns who grew tried of hearing their male comrades “shout in favour” of sexual equality “in the future society” while doing nothing about it in the here and now. They used a particularly insulting analogy, comparing their male comrades to priests who “make false promises to the starving masses … [that] there will be rewards in paradise.” The argued that mothers should make their daughters “understand that the difference in sex does not imply inequality in rights” and that as well as being “rebels against the social system of today,” they “should fight especially against the oppression of men who would like to retain women as their moral and material inferior.” [Ersilia Grandi, quoted by Caroline Waldron Merithew, Anarchist Motherhood, p. 227] They formed the “Luisa Michel” group to fight against capitalism and patriarchy in the upper Illinois valley coal towns over three decades before their Spanish comrades organised themselves.

For anarcha-feminists, combating sexism is a key aspect of the struggle for freedom. It is not, as many Marxist socialists argued before the rise of feminism, a diversion from the “real” struggle against capitalism which would somehow be automatically solved after the revolution. It is an essential part of the struggle:

“We do not need any of your titles … We want none of them. What we do want is knowledge and education and liberty. We know what our rights are and we demand them. Are we not standing next to you fighting the supreme fight? Are you not strong enough, men, to make part of that supreme fight a struggle for the rights of women? And then men and women together will gain the rights of all humanity.” [Louise Michel, Op. Cit., p. 142]

A key part of this revolutionising modern society is the transformation of the current relationship between the sexes. Marriage is a particular evil for “the old form of marriage, based on the Bible, ‘till death doth part,’ … [is] an institution that stands for the sovereignty of the man over the women, of her complete submission to his whims and commands.” Women are reduced “to the function of man’s servant and bearer of his children.” [Goldman, Op. Cit., pp. 220–1] Instead of this, anarchists proposed “free love,” that is couples and families based on free agreement between equals than one partner being in authority and the other simply obeying. Such unions would be without sanction of church or state for “two beings who love each other do not need permission from a third to go to bed.” [Mozzoni, quoted by Moya, Op. Cit., p. 200]

Equality and freedom apply to more than just relationships. For “if social progress consists in a constant tendency towards the equalisation of the liberties of social units, then the demands of progress are not satisfied so long as half society, Women, is in subjection… . Woman … is beginning to feel her servitude; that there is a requisite acknowledgement to be won from her master before he is put down and she exalted to — Equality. This acknowledgement is, the freedom to control her own person. “ [Voltairine de Cleyre, “The Gates of Freedom”, Op. Cit., p. 242] Neither men nor state nor church should say what a woman does with her body. A logical extension of this is that women must have control over their own reproductive organs. Thus anarcha-feminists, like anarchists in general, are pro-choice and pro-reproductive rights (i.e. the right of a woman to control her own reproductive decisions). This is a long standing position. Emma Goldman was persecuted and incarcerated because of her public advocacy of birth control methods and the extremist notion that women should decide when they become pregnant (as feminist writer Margaret Anderson put it, “In 1916, Emma Goldman was sent to prison for advocating that ‘women need not always keep their mouth shut and their wombs open.’”).

Anarcha-feminism does not stop there. Like anarchism in general, it aims at changing all aspects of society not just what happens in the home. For, as Goldman asked, “how much independence is gained if the narrowness and lack of freedom of the home is exchanged for the narrowness and lack of freedom of the factory, sweat-shop, department store, or office?” Thus women’s equality and freedom had to be fought everywhere and defended against all forms of hierarchy. Nor can they be achieved by voting. Real liberation, argue anarcha-feminists, is only possible by direct action and anarcha-feminism is based on women’s self-activity and self-liberation for while the “right to vote, or equal civil rights, may be good demands … true emancipation begins neither at the polls nor in the courts. It begins in woman’s soul … her freedom will reach as far as her power to achieve freedom reaches.” [Goldman, Op. Cit., p. 216 and p. 224]

The history of the women’s movement proves this. Every gain has come from below, by the action of women themselves. As Louise Michel put it, ”[w]e women are not bad revolutionaries. Without begging anyone, we are taking our place in the struggles; otherwise, we could go ahead and pass motions until the world ends and gain nothing.” [Op. Cit., p. 139] If women waited for others to act for them their social position would never have changed. This includes getting the vote in the first place. Faced with the militant suffrage movement for women’s votes, British anarchist Rose Witcop recognised that it was “true that this movement shows us that women who so far have been so submissive to their masters, the men, are beginning to wake up at last to the fact they are not inferior to those masters.” Yet she argued that women would not be freed by votes but “by their own strength.” [quoted by Sheila Rowbotham, Hidden from History, pp. 100–1 and p. 101] The women’s movement of the 1960s and 1970s showed the truth of that analysis. In spite of equal voting rights, women’s social place had remained unchanged since the 1920s.

Ultimately, as Anarchist Lily Gair Wilkinson stressed, the “call for ‘votes’ can never be a call to freedom. For what is it to vote? To vote is to register assent to being ruled by one legislator or another?” [quoted by Sheila Rowbotham, Op. Cit., p. 102] It does not get to the heart of the problem, namely hierarchy and the authoritarian social relationships it creates of which patriarchy is only a subset of. Only by getting rid of all bosses, political, economic, social and sexual can genuine freedom for women be achieved and “make it possible for women to be human in the truest sense. Everything within her that craves assertion and activity should reach its fullest expression; all artificial barriers should be broken, and the road towards greater freedom cleared of every trace of centuries of submission and slavery.” [Emma Goldman, Op. Cit., p. 214]

[omniscientoswald]

A trip to Hawai'i P.4

[Babysitting]

Soap, Price and Ghost: *Staring at Oswalds neice(Ohia) and nephew(Nathan) sitting on the couch arguing*

Soap: Alright...I think we can handle an hour and a half till Bonnie and Kyle gets back

Price: Great. Knock yourselves out, Soap *Retreats to his room*

Soap: Welp it's just you and me L.T-

Ghost: *Already closing the door to his room*

Soap: Oh well...nothing a trained SAS soldier cannae handle...

Ohia and Nathan: *Screaming as they start physically fighting each other*

Soap: Oh boy...

An hour and thirty minutes later:

Soap: *Passed out asleep on the couch with doodles all over his face*

Ghost: *Playing dolls with the kids* Sure, we can put horses to bed. Just make sure you wish them goodnight

Ohia: *Whispers to the toy horses, sweetly* Goodnight

Nathan: But uncle Simon! Horses go in the stable, Ohia always makes stuff up!

Ghost: Nathan, let your sister play however she wants with her dolls. She doesn't boss you on the Wii, now does she?

Nathan: *Pouts* Alright...

Oswald and Gaz: *Opens door carrying large grocery bags*

Oswald: We're back!

Gaz: *Placing the bags down and walks towards ghost* There was so much traffic and-

Gaz: *Looks to see Soaps face littered with marker art and stickers as he's snoring on the couch* You guys sure was busy...

Ghost: Sure was *High-fives a laughing Ohia and Nathan*

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Rent control works

This Saturday (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on May 22, I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On May 23, I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

David Roth memorably described the job of neoliberal economists as finding “new ways to say ‘actually, your boss is right.’” Not just your boss: for decades, economists have formed a bulwark against seemingly obvious responses to the most painful parts of our daily lives, from wages to education to health to shelter:

https://popula.com/2023/04/30/yakkin-about-chatgpt-with-david-roth/

How can we solve the student debt crisis? Well, we could cancel student debt and regulate the price of education, either directly or through free state college.

How can we solve America’s heath-debt crisis? We could cancel health debt and create Medicare For All.

How can we solve America’s homelessness crisis? We could build houses and let homeless people live in them.

How can we solve America’s wage-stagnation crisis? We could raise the minimum wage and/or create a federal jobs guarantee.

How can we solve America’s workplace abuse crisis? We could allow workers to unionize.

How can we solve America’s price-gouging greedflation crisis? With price controls and/or windfall taxes.

How can we solve America’s inequality crisis? We could tax billionaires.

How can we solve America’s monopoly crisis? We could break up monopolies.

How can we solve America’s traffic crisis? We could build public transit.

How can we solve America’s carbon crisis? We can regulate carbon emissions.

These answers make sense to everyone except neoliberal economists and people in their thrall. Rather than doing the thing we want, neoliberal economists insist we must unleash “markets” to solve the problems, by “creating incentives.” That may sound like a recipe for a small state, but in practice, “creating incentives” often involves building huge bureaucracies to “keep the incentives aligned” (that is, to prevent private firms from ripping off public agencies).

This is how we get “solutions” that fail catastrophically, like:

Public Service Loan Forgiveness instead of debt cancellation and free college:

https://studentloansherpa.com/likely-ineligible/

The gig economy instead of unions and minimum wages:

https://www.newswise.com/articles/research-reveals-majority-of-gig-economy-workers-are-earning-below-minimum-wage

Interest rate hikes instead of price caps and windfall taxes:

https://www.npr.org/2023/05/03/1173371788/the-fed-raises-interest-rates-again-in-what-could-be-its-final-attack-on-inflati

Tax breaks for billionaire philanthropists instead of taxing billionaires:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/10/winners-take-all-modern-philanthropy-means-that-giving-some-away-is-more-important-than-how-you-got-it/

Subsidizing Uber instead of building mass transit:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/cities-turn-uber-instead-buses-trains/

Fraud-riddled carbon trading instead of emissions limits:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/27/voluntary-carbon-market/#trust-me

As infuriating as all of this “actually, your boss is right” nonsense is, the most immediate and continuously frustrating aspect of it is the housing crisis, which has engulfed cities all over the world, to the detriment of nearly everyone.

America led the way on screwing up housing. There were two major New Deal/post-war policies that created broad (but imperfect and racially biased) prosperity in America: housing subsidies and labor unions. Of the two, labor unions were the most broadly inclusive, most available across racial and gender lines, and most engaged with civil rights struggles and other progressive causes.

So America declared war on labor unions and told working people that their only path to intergenerational wealth was to buy a home, wait for it to “appreciate,” and sell it on for a profit. This is a disaster. Without unions to provide countervailing force, every part of American life has worsened, with stagnating wages lagging behind skyrocketing expenses for education, health, retirement, and long-term care. For nearly every homeowner, this means that their “most valuable asset” — the roof over their head — must be liquidated to cover debts. Meanwhile, their kids, burdened with six-figure student debt — will have little or nothing left from the sale of the family home with which to cover a downpayment in a hyperinflated market:

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

Meanwhile, rent inflation is screaming ahead of other forms of inflation, burdening working people beyond any ability to pay. Giant Wall Street firms have bought up huge swathes of the country’s housing stock, transforming it into overpriced, undermaintained slums that you can be evicted from at the drop of a hat:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

Transforming housing from a human right to an “asset” was always going to end in a failure to build new housing stock and regulate the rental market. It’s reaching a breaking point. “Superstar cities” like New York and San Francisco have long been priced out of the reach of working people, but now they’re becoming unattainable for double-income, childless, college-educated adults in their prime working years:

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2023/05/15/upshot/migrations-college-super-cities.html

A city that you can’t live in is a failure. A system that can’t provide decent housing is a failure. The “your boss is right, actually” crowd won: we don’t build public housing, we don’t regulate rents, and it suuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks.

Maybe we could try doing things instead of “aligning incentives?”

Like, how about rent control.

God, you can already hear them squealing! “Price controls artificially distort well-functioning markets, resulting in a mismatch between supply and demand and the creation of the dreaded deadweight loss triangle!”

Rent control “causes widespread shortages, leaving would-be renters high and dry while screwing landlords (the road to hell, so says the orthodox economist, is paved with good intentions).”

That’s been the received wisdom for decades, fed to us by Chicago School economists who are so besotted with their own mathematical models that any mismatch between the models’ predictions and the real world is chalked up to errors in the real world, not the models. It’s pure economism: “If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

But, as Mark Paul writes for The American Prospect, rent control works:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2023-05-16-economists-hate-rent-control/

Rent control doesn’t constrain housing supply:

https://dornsife.usc.edu/pere/rent-matters

At least some of the time, rent control expands housing supply:

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1467-9906.2007.00334.x

The real risk of rent control is landlords exploiting badly written laws to kick out tenants and convert their units to condos — that’s not a problem with rent control, it’s a problem with eviction law:

https://web.stanford.edu/~diamondr/DMQ.pdf

Meanwhile, removing rent control doesn’t trigger the predicted increases in housing supply:

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0094119006000635

Rent control might create winners (tenants) and losers (landlords), but it certainly doesn’t make everyone worse off — as the neoliberal doctrine insists it must. Instead, tenants who benefit from rent control have extra money in their pockets to spend on groceries, debt service, vacations, and child-care.

Those happier, more prosperous people, in turn, increase the value of their landlords’ properties, by creating happy, prosperous neighborhoods. Rent control means that when people in a neighborhood increase its value, their landlords can’t kick them out and rent to richer people, capturing all the value the old tenants created.

What is life like under rent control? It’s great. You and your family get to stay put until you’re ready to move on, as do your neighbors. Your kids don’t have to change schools and find new friends. Old people aren’t torn away from communities who care for them:

https://ideas.repec.org/a/uwp/landec/v58y1982i1p109-117.html

In Massachusetts, tenants with rent control pay half the rent that their non-rent-controlled neighbors pay:

https://economics.mit.edu/sites/default/files/publications/housing%20market%202014.pdf

Rent control doesn’t just make tenants better off, it makes society better off. Rather than money flowing from a neighborhood to landlords, rent control allows the people in a community to invest it there: opening and patronizing businesses.

Anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop. As the housing crisis worsens, states are finally bringing back rent control. New York has strengthened rent control for the first time in 40 years:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/12/nyregion/rent-regulation-laws-new-york.html

California has a new statewide rent control law:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/11/business/economy/california-rent-control.html

They’re battling against anti-rent-control state laws pushed by ALEC, the right-wing architects of model legislation banning action on climate change, broadband access, and abortion:

https://www.nmhc.org/research-insight/analysis-and-guidance/rent-control-laws-by-state/

But rent control has broad, democratic support. Strong majorities of likely voters support rent control:

https://www.bostonglobe.com/2023/03/07/metro/new-statewide-poll-shows-strong-support-rent-control/

And there’s a kind of rent control that has near unanimous support: the 30-year fixed mortgage. For the 67% of Americans who live in owner-occupied homes, the existence of the federally-backed (and thus federally subsidized) fixed mortgage means that your monthly shelter costs are fixed for life. What’s more, these costs go down the longer you pay them, as mortgage borrowers refinance when interest rates dip.

We have a two-tier system: if you own a home, then the longer you stay put, the cheaper your “rent” gets. If you rent a home, the longer you stay put, the more expensive your home gets over time.

America needs a shit-ton more housing — regular housing for working people. Mr Market doesn’t want to build it, no matter how many “incentives” we dangle. Maybe it’s time we just did stuff instead of building elaborate Rube Goldberg machines in the hopes of luring the market’s animal sentiments into doing it for us.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

[Image ID: A beautifully laid dining room table in a luxury flat. Outside of the windows looms a rotting shanty town with storm-clouds overhead.]

Image: ozz13x (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Shanty_Town_Hong_Kong_China_March_2013.jpg

Matt Brown (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dining_room_in_Centre_Point_penthouse.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[sanityshorror]

the julius redraw of my beloved patrick led to julius becoming my other beloved. they're both so.....😍*chef's kiss* 💋could you please write a scenario about these two pretty boy psychos meeting each other for the first time? thank you❤️

Awe thank you so much, I'm glad you love Julius! I put so much work into him and I'm working on soooo many projects about him 👀 As for the scenario, I apologize but I really don't have time and I don't write fanfiction involving my own characters (I created Julius, to be clear; he's my character 😭) BUT I can tell you my silly HCs of if somehow their different universes collided and they met!

Given Patrick's personality and knowing Julius' like the back of my hand, unfortunately I do not see any sort of friendship ever forming between the two. Neither of the men are prone to form a genuine bond with anyone. Now, I can confirm that there are a few exceptions for Julius but it's very, very, very few. As for Patrick, it's up to one's interpretation of if he can/does form a true bond, I personally interpret him to be similar to Julius: no, with extremely rare exceptions.

While I do not see a genuine bond being able to form between the two, I absolutely do see them both as having a mutually beneficial fake-friendship. They're both east coast, coked up, sex addicted, rich white men who lead double/multiple lives and are deceptive as all hell. They both are also very obsessive over image, appearance and social status/perception. Now what I absolutely do believe would happen is Patrick forming an obsessive infatuation but intense jealousy towards Julius due to multiple reasons.

I'll explain:

Julius was born in a working class family during the Victorian era who immigrated to America and became a mainly self made multi-billionaire (being married to the Boss of the Boston Irish Mob brings in a lot of money on top of his own very successful business). Patrick on the other hand, despite being born into wealth still doesn't hold a candle to Julius' riches. Patrick may own a Manhattan penthouse but Julius could buy the entire building if he wanted to, and without batting an eye at the price tag given the multi-millions that roll in weekly for him.

That brings me to another reason: sheer status and power. Julius is so elite that brand names mean nothing to him and he sees brand names as something for the poor. Julius owns a very popular, top of the line, extremely expensive dress shop and boutique. Everything is hand made by him (he doesn't even use sewing machines), one of a kind and the man is talented. His shop is so revered you need an appointment just to get in and people will save up for years and fly across the country, even across the ocean to get a dress. (Of course, only the lucky actually leave the shop....) Basically, Julius' wealth and god like status (he can literally have anything he wants, whenever he wants and gets endless attention) is something Patrick would, though be very jealous of, lead Patrick to suck up to Julius. Our boy Patrick would set his homophobia aside in a second if it meant being seen going into Doherty's Dress Shop without needing an appointment.

Julius would look down on Patrick. He would find him annoying and pathetic. However Julius loves attention and loves people sucking up to him (and loves cocaine-murder buddies) so he probably wouldn't kill Patrick as long as Patrick played his cards right and didn't challenge him. I see Julius using Patrick as a verbal punching bag and forcing him to smuggle drugs and traffic humans and other shit, and probably also just make him do degrading things like "I'll let you enter my store wherever you want if you suck my boot until you jizz in your pants hahahaha nasty bitch" just for shits and giggles. And Patrick probably would because oh that sweet sweet sweet status.

Julius also would make fun of Patrick for being 'short and fat'. Patrick is said to be 6'0 and 190lbs whereas Julius, who is anorexic, stands at 6'5 (in the human leather boots he always wears, he's 6'2 without them) and horrific mere 135lbs (please seek help if you struggle with eating, you deserve it/gen). I think they would both feed into each other's body issues and obsession with perfection.

It would be interesting to see them meet, I must admit that lol.

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You - ch 11

Helo all!!!

Your truly is back from Canada and I have a surprise for those who care.

In tinsi chapter we have fussy Rowan and some good old hurt/Comfort... oh yeah... Aerobitch is mentioned too... I promise he will not make an appearance. he just gets mentioned but that's all.

Enjoy!!!

MASTERLIST

Two days later Rowan was on his red truck en route to Hamel HQ to talk to the bastard who was putting hundreds of people lives at risk. On top of his regular duties and paperwork, this one had suddenly become his top priority. He had even liaised with the police and an inspector admitted that they had a case against Hamel and were very keen on taking the man down if they had enough proof. Rowan was dead set on giving them all the bullets they needed to shoot the bastard down. 

Aelin and Maya had moved most of all their stuff at his place. He was meant to go back that night for the last load. He had been even more furious when he found out that Hamel had been increasing rent prices on a constant basis. He and Aelin had moved in that block of flats when they had decided to live together. It was a nice place, central and with a decent rent. But now it had basically tripled and he was not having it. He had an house almost paid off thanks to the money his dad left him, and Aelin was not going to pay any more money to that monster.

Hamel group HQ’s building was in the middle of the financial district and looked luxurious and disgusting. He parked his pickup and strolled in the lavish lobby, while anger rose in him. At the reception he introduced himself as the chief of the TFD and requested a visit with Mr Hamel. The receptionist told him that he was a busy man and an appointment should be made before showing up unannounced.

“I am the fire Chief and I don’t care. Your boss is putting lives in danger and I am not leaving this building until I have a meeting with him.”

“You could be the president, you still need an appointment.” She added almost bored.

In that instant security started to close on him “You win for today, but next time, I am showing up with a mandate from the police and the entire incursion team and we will rat him out by force if needed.”

He stormed out and called Nesryn at Police HQ. She was a good friend of his and as soon as he told her who he was gunning for she told him she had his back and all the legal documents ready to storm that shithole.

A smirk appeared on his face and he drove back to work.

*

It was late, far later than he had planned. Rowan was meant to go to Aelin’s place and pick them up and go home but he had been buried under a mountain of work and lost track of the time. He was about to leave the office when his radio became alive with a call. A three alarm fire. His heart stopped when he heard the address. Fuck fuck and fuck. 

Like a desperate man he ran to his pickup, checked that he had all of his gear and with sirens howling he drove to the location. 

In that instant his phone went off and accepted it via the button on his steering wheel “Aelin?”

Coughing in the background “Rowan?”

“I am on my way, Are you two safe?”

“Smoke, Rowan, there is so much smoke.”

Why was traffic not moving? Angrily he honked a few times “Listen to me, grab a cloth and wet it and place it on both yours and Maya’s face. Cover mouth and nose and stay low. And Aelin, do not leave the flat until one of us gets in, understood?”

A weak yes came through the call “Is Maya okay?”

“She is so scared.”

“I am almost there, I can see the smoke.” He heard Maya’s voice “Maya, baby I am coming, listen to your mum, be brave a little longer. I am coning.”

The girl cried and Rowan remained on the phone with Aelin until he spotted her building “Ae, I am here. I will see you soon.”

He finally parked and bolted out of the vehicle to grab his gear and join Lorcan who was directing the operation while he arrived.

His eyes lifted to the topmost floor where Aelin lived and relief washed over him when he spotted no fire. It did not mean they were safe though, the smoke was rising quickly and until the building was fully evacuated he would probably not know what normal breathing was again.

“What’s the situation?”

“Fire is on the second floor, we have evacuated the first floor and I have my team, station 7 and 8 on evacuating the level above the fire line,” he explained “The fire alarm did not go off and no sprinklers. The call was raised by a tenant who spotted the fire in his level when he was leaving the house.” Lorcan then looked at his friend terrified face “Brullo, Ress and Ansel are on Aelin’s floor.” And quickly he ran to grab his gear and join his team.

He quickly called for a situation status for each level and anger surged when the second floor’s team reported two victims. 

“Sartaq, take your team inside and go on level two with water support, we need to tackle this quickly.”

A call came through the radio “Chief, I smell electrical fire in sector A.”

Rowan held back Sartaq with his hand. He then looked at him and a nod was all the lieutenant needed to switch to CO2 “Nox, Sartaq is coming in with a lot of CO2 extinguishers.”

“Copy that, chief.”

Rowan was busy giving orders to his team when he spotted a head of golden hair and Brullo carrying a little girl with silver hair. His instincts told him to bolt and ran to them, but he had a job to do, so he just followed Brullo taking them to Asterin in the ambulance, the paramedics placing an oxygen mask on both. He lifted his hand and found it shaking. They are fine, he kept telling himself. They are fine.

Ilias, the captain of station 7, emerged with the two bodies of the victims and the paramedics joined him to ascertain that it was really the case. He walked to the man and stared at the two paramedic confirm that both victims had sadly passed because of extensive burns and smoke inhalation.

“This was in flat 4 on the first floor. It stinks of electrical fire, chief.” The anger in the captain’s voice reflected his own “Thank you Ilias, go and assist Lorcan and the other on level two. We need to contain the fire.”

“Yes, chief.”

It took Rowan and the three station a good hour to finally kill the fire. They had luckily evacuated all tenants when the fire jumped to the third floor.

Rowan looked at his men exhausted and walked to them to thank them for the excellent job and to have a little more of information of what happened inside. Then spotted Nesryn in the distance and joined her “Damn this looks like it was hellish.”

Rowan nodded “We haven’t started overhaul yet.”

The police captain nodded “We have intelligence that this could be arson.”

Rowan groaned. Arson was a nightmare to prove because the fire most of times destroyed all evidence “Are you sure?”

The woman nodded “Seems like Hamel decided the building was not profitable anymore. A residential building most of time is a money pit. He prefers his fancy buildings in the financial district where companies pay hefty rents. Apparently he was trying to make a deal to convert this building to another offices complex, but first had to get rid of the tenants.”

“Two people are dead!” He roared.

“I know. If OFI can prove arson, we have charges for murder and insurance fraud and a lot more.”

“This building is not up to code,” he added with fury “Even if it was not arson, that is enough to accuse him of dereliction of duty. His negligence killed two people.”

“Rowan, I know and that is already gross misconduct but arson would give us another serious accusation, enough to jail him forever because we can prove that the deaths are his fault.”

He paced “I have a drawer full of falsified inspections that should jail him for a long time already.”

“Hamel has ways to get his way out of things, but not this time.”

“My daughter and Aelin lived in that building.” Pain bled into his words.

“They will all have justice, I promise.”

Rowan looked around him where hundreds of people crowded the streets, sat on the pavements with desperation and grief in their faces. In the span of a night they had lost everything.

“We need to help these people.”

“I have contacted mayor Darrow and he is already on the case. Those who don’t have alternative accommodation with friends and family will be offered a place in hotels for now and then a more permanent place.”

Lorcan called him “We are starting overhaul. It will give us an initial ideal of the fire dynamics.”

Before joining the teams he ran to Aelin. Maya tried to wiggle free but Asterin kept her still. He hugged his daughter who cried in his arms “You are safe, my love. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

His arms extended to Aelin. He looked up at her, at her face covered in soot under the oxygen mask. He pulled her closer “You are both safe.”

Then he stood and walked to his car and came back a minute later “This is my bank card, and my house keys, get yourselves a taxi and go home as soon as Asterin clears you both. I need to stay behind.”

He kneeled to Maya “I will be home soon, go with mum, okay?”

She muttered a quiet okay and he kissed her then kissed Aelin on her forehead “I was so damn scared for you both.” The kiss lingered far longer than expected, then he ran away and into the building.

*

When he finally got home it was deep into the night. Overhaul had lasted much longer than expected but they had managed to find the source in one of the electrical panels in the basement. A water leak in the pipes had caused the fire to spread and reach the first floor where they exploded and let the fire engulf the flat that had been the worst affected. OFI was called on the scene and took photos and samples immediately. Now they had just had to discover if it had been accidental due to the lack of acre of intentionally caused. Either way, Hamel was in a sea of trouble and Rowan was looking forward to the moment when the monster would be behind bars.

By the time he got home he was exhausted and famished.

Quietly he walked into the house and once in the living room he spotted a figure on the sofa. Aelin was sitting there reading a book under a pile of blankets and a small book light “You can put the heating on,” he walked to the panel and switched it on for her and then turned on the lights.

Her face carried the marks of tears. His body moved towards on instinct and sat at her side.

She sobbed loudly and flung herself in his arms. Rowan wrapped Aelin in an embrace and let her cry “It was terrifying… the explosion…”

“Shh… it’s okay. You are safe now.”

Aelin kept crying in his arms “Is Maya asleep?”

“Yes, she is finally down, she was far braver than me.”

“You both were.”

His mouth landed on the crown of her head and left a soft kiss “When I heard the address over the radio is almost died. If—” he pushed his rage down “If I had lost you both I would have been lost man.”

Aelin looked up at him in his beautiful green eyes that still carried fury in them “I am sorry, Rowan. Sorry that I lied, that I kept Maya from you. I—” He did not let her finish speak and his mouth was on hers. It was a soft kiss, full of love. Aelin melted in it, the fire of an ancient love slowly rekindling inside her. How had she lived all this time without him? How did she even thought about dating other men when she knew that no one would measure up to him?

Rowan pulled back and caressed her face “You need to rest.”

Aelin tried to protest but he stopped “We will talk tomorrow. Will make plans when less tired.”

He stood and offered her his hand and together walked upstairs. Aelin gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing through her door.

Rowan smiled, his hand touching the point where she had kissed him then walked in Maya’s bedroom.

She was sound asleep, Elf and the shark in her arms.

He had been a firefighter all of his adult life. Had seen many scary situations but nothing will ever compare to the deep unyielding fear he had felt that evening. The idea of loosing them both had the power to destroy him. He had been trying to ignore his resurfacing feelings for Aelin. The woman had been the love of his life and now he was trying to understand how to navigate the strange relationship they were building for Maya. He tried not to dwell too much on the kiss. It was likely the effect of the earlier events and the residual adrenaline.

But staring at Maya sleep, a part of him wished they would become more than roommates.

For Maya.

For the family that they could be.

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

[thebesthealthcareprovider]

Smile Bright in Dubai: Your Guide to the City's Best Dentists 🦷✨

Hey Tumblr fam! 👋 Are you in Dubai and on the hunt for a top-notch dentist? Or maybe you're planning a trip and want to combine it with some dental work? (Hello, dental tourism!) 🏙️🦷 Well, you're in luck because we're about to dive into the world of the best dentists in Dubai!

Why Dubai for Your Dental Needs? 🌟

Dubai isn't just about sky-high buildings and luxury shopping. It's also becoming a hotspot for world-class medical care, including dentistry! Here's why:

- 🏆 Top-tier facilities with cutting-edge tech

- 🌍 Internationally trained dental pros

- 💼 A perfect blend of tourism and treatment

What Makes a Dentist the Best? 🏅

Before we spill the tea on Dubai's dental scene, let's break down what makes a dentist truly shine:

1. 📚 Qualifications and experience (because you want someone who knows their stuff!)

2. 🦷 Range of services (one-stop-shop, anyone?)

3. 🖥️ High-tech equipment (because old-school isn't always cool)

4. 👍 Glowing patient reviews (real talk from real people)

5. 📍 Convenient location (because Dubai traffic, am I right?)

6. 💰 Fair pricing and insurance options (your wallet will thank you)

Dubai's Dental A-List: The Cream of the Crop 🎖️

Here are some of the most highly regarded dental clinics in Dubai:

1. Dubai Smile Dental Clinic

Specialties: General dentistry, cosmetic dentistry, orthodontics

Location: Jumeirah Beach Road

Why they stand out: Experienced international team, cutting-edge technology

2. American Medical Clinic

Specialties: Implantology, periodontics, endodontics

Location: Sheikh Zayed Road

Why they stand out: American-trained dentists, comprehensive dental care

3. Prime Health Clinic

Specialties

Routine Dental Treatment: Both adult and child dentistry

Dental Extractions: both simple and complex, including Wisdom Teeth Extractions

Dental treatment under Sedation / General 

Location: Airport Rd - next to Le Meridian Hotel - Al Garhoud - Dubai - United Arab Emirates

Why they stand out: Family-friendly environment, multilingual staff

4. Dr. Joy Dental Clinic

Vibe: Family-friendly and warm

Specialty: Invisalign for that stealth teeth-straightening

Cool factor: Multiple locations, so there's always one near you!

5. Boston Dental Center

- Vibe: Holistic care with a side of expertise

-Specialty: From simple cleanings to complex oral surgeries

- Cool factor: Marina views while you get your teeth cleaned? Yes, please!

Keep That Smile Shining! ✨

Now that you're in the know about the **best dentists in Dubai**, here are some quick tips to keep your pearly whites, well, pearly and white:

- 🪥 Brush twice a day (you know the drill!)

- 🦷 Floss like a boss

- 🍬 Say "no" to too many sweets (your dentist will be so proud)

- 👩‍⚕️👨‍⚕️ Regular check-ups are your BFF

 Wrap It Up With a Smile 😁

There you have it, folks! Whether you're a Dubai resident or just passing through, you now know where to find the **best dentists in Dubai**. Your smile deserves the best, so why settle for less?

Remember, a great smile is always in style, especially in a city as glamorous as Dubai. So book that appointment, snap that post-dentist selfie, and let your smile shine as bright as the Dubai skyline! ✨🏙️

[omegaremix]

Summer 2018 mixtape:

Viet Cong / Preoccupations “Disarray”

Lower Dens “Ondine”

Black Marble “A Great Design”

Hot Flash Heat Wave “Glo Ride”

Still Corners “The Photograph”

Odd Couple “What Kings Do”

Oldbills “Tablecloth”

System, The (UK) “Find It In Your Eyes”

Holydrug Couple, The “I’ll Only Say This”

Negative Gemini “Bad Baby”

Refreshers “How Bout U?”

Sam Smith “I’m Not The Only One”

Secret Circle “Tube Socks”

6lack “Prblms”

Spizzenergi “Soldier Soldier”

Basic Nature “Love Won’t Always Be There”

Camp Cope “Anna”

Dilly Dally “I Feel Free”

Eyedress f. Pyramid Vritra “1990”

Oldbills “Salsa Verde”

LaMont Johnson Aces

Uniform & The Body “In My Skin”

Water From Your Eyes “We’re Set Up”

Beat Detectives “Call It What You Want (Segment One)”

End Of A Year / Self Defense Family “Self-Immolation Family”

Lanark Artefax “Glasz”

No Age “You’re A Target”

Ice Age “Under The Sun”

Daughters “Satan In The Wait”

Nothing “Blue Line Baby”

Sean Price “STFU Pt. 2”

Tislatin Onzar 3=2+1

clipping. “Ends” (Xanopticon RMX)

Nothing “Zero Day”

Prison Religion “007”

Big Boss, The motion picture soundtrack “The Killing Fight”

Oldbills “Black Ice”

Cults “Gilded Lily”

Eyedress “High Street Drive”

Tanya Tagaq f. Shad “Centre”

Fall, The “Australians In Europe”

Pond “Sweep Me Off My Feet”

Uniform “The Walk”

BreakBeatBuddha “New Delhi Dank”

Ta-Ra “L’il Bit”

Xiu Xiu & Mitski “Between The Breaths”

Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever “Time In Common”

Sweet Valley “Sentimental Trash”

Wati Heru X Kashaka “BKWYA”

All These Fingers “Puerta Vallarta”

Body Without Organs “Osiris Rises”

Cults “Talk In Circles”

Miss Red “One Shot Killer”

Underworld & Iggy Pop “Bells And Circles”

Alt-J “Story 4 Sleeplessly Embracing” (clipping. RMX)

Moor Mother “Washington Park”

Erick Arc Elliott “Breaking”

Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever “An Air Conditioned Man”

Cansei De Ser Sexy “Girlfriend”

Choir Boy “Blood Moon”

Flastbush Zombies “The Results Are In”

Miss Red “Come Again”

Cold Cave New Morale Leadership

Prison Religion “Glass”

Diseno Corbusier “Ritmo 21”

Happy Meals / Free Love “Pushing Too Hard”

Jessica Rylan “Wishing Well”

Erick Arc Elliott “Fifteen Minutes”

Palm “Dog Milk”

Body, The “Sickly Heart Of Sand”

Oldbills “Weekendluv”

Ariana Grande “Into You”

Imagine Dragons “Thunder”

Moor Mother “Creation Myth”

Cellars “Real Good Day”

Addison Groove “Footcrab” (DJ Rashad & DJ Spinn RMX)

Charles Manson Lie

Water From Your Eyes “That’s The Girl”

Anti-Nowhere League “Snowman”

Bug, The f. Liz Harris “Black Wasp”

Eyedress f. Prefuse73 “Living Room”

Miss Red “Dagga”

Malcomb McLaren “Zulu’s On A Time Bomb”

Idles “Danny Nedelko”

Aube “Parametalizest Pt. II”

Menace Beach “Black Rainbow Sound”

Chvrches “Never Say Die”

Nine Inch Nails “The Background World”

Oh No “Banger”

Oneida “Whitey Fortress”

Ariana Grande “Moonlight”

Happy Meals / Free Love “July”

Curren$y f. The Game & Prodigy “The Type”

CASisDEAD “Leon Best”

Diseno Corbusier “Meta Metalic”

Malcomb McLaren “Soweto”

Nine Inch Nails Bad Witch

Jessica Rylan “Way Home”

Max G. Morton The Devil’s Music

Beat Detectives“ (Undiscernable) Repetition Heavy Traffic: New NYC Vibe 2”

[anika-ann]

Protect and Serve - Pt.1

Ch1: The Meet and the Cute

Type: multichapter, Teen Wolf post s06-A, slight AU

Pairing: Jordan Parrish x reader  Word count ch1: 2600

Summary: In a need of change of scenery for a while, you stabbed your finger into a map and ended up heading to Beacon Hills to start anew. You cared little for obscure blog posts claiming the town had a reputation – house prices were a miracle and there was a job opening at local high school.

And if the population was half as nice and pretty as certain Deputy patrolling the streets, you were going to be just fine. ...right?

Warnings: fluff and cutesy, cops?, serial killer mention, language

A/N: Title (besides from the obvious) from s05e09: “I'm a very good deputy, and I'd like to stay that way. Flipping over jeeps and attacking colleagues doesn't exactly fit with protect and serve.” (J.P.)

A/N2: not sure anyone will even read this since it’s kinda niche AND so late to the party but... ah well. Was itching to write this. There’s not enough JP x reader out there. Divider by firefly-graphics

One glance – that was all it took. Just one glance and all hope was lost at last, even as you knew the end was long time coming.

“No! No, no, nooooo,” you whined, watching the screen turn dark, the company logo flickering up once more before your phone died completely, your gaze snapping back to the road. “Dammit!”

Scanning your surroundings, you found the nearest place to stop – a simple task, truly, since Beacon County was apparently nothing but woods – and pulled over, killing the engine.

You deserved this; you knew that. That’s what you got for postponing basic things like buying a new charging cable – something you had meant to do weeks ago. But between packing, filling in a mountain of paperwork, calls with Mrs. Martin and goodbyes to your few friends, you felt too exhausted to do a single piece of work extra. Such as purchasing a silly piece of electronics.

It was karma, really. Bitchy karma who left you with Beacon Hills at your fingertips and a dead GPS. It wasn’t that you hadn’t looked up the map of the place before; you just succumbed to the sin of modern times and didn’t care much to actually remember where the school was in position to your new home, relying on a piece of technology instead.

It was the cop’s fault anyway. Your phone was supposed to last, you should have already been in Beacon Hills, waiting for the appointment with Principal Martin, but apparently the Beacon County Sherriff’s department was taking their job a little too seriously when directing traffic. Deputy Whatshisname had held you up too long when checking the papers, making you blow into the stupid breathalyser and walk a straight line despite your reassurances that you had not been drinking and driving. He just had to check your first aid kit and other obligatory equipment too; and now your phone was useless. You hoped karma was about to bite Mr.Deuty in the ass too.

“No use crying now…” you muttered under your breath, cursing when you realized you couldn’t even call your future boss and apologize for probably being late.

Plugging your phone in, toying with the pitiful excuse of a cable for a bit, you slowly started the car again, mentally crossed your fingers and hoped for the best.

You reached Beacon Hills in barely two minutes with no problems – it was the town itself which posed a challenge.

Half past eleven in the morning, the roads were nearly free of cars. A good thing, truly, because with how slow you were going, eyes sharp as your gaze trailed over every sign, trying to spy names of the streets and hoping for something to spark a memory, you might encounter some serious road rage of other drivers otherwise.

Instinctively, you tried to head towards the town centre, sure you were doing a decent job, until you found yourself on the edge of the town again, quickly making a U-turn and heading back.

Maybe the blog posts were right about this town: there was something strange going on. Maybe it was a labyrinth. Maybe it was like a Bermuda triangle. Hell, maybe it didn’t even exist in the same realm as the rest of the world, floating in some parallel universe-

You scoffed and eyed your watch. You were already late. You might as well stop by the coffee shop you had passed five minutes ago – if you’d be able to find it again. Maybe there would be someone with a functioning charging cable willing to lend it for a small coffee and cheesecake bribe too.

Resigned, you added coffee shops and bakeries to list of things to keep an eye out for as you slowly followed the road, watching people on their lunch break filling the streets. You really didn’t want to stop and ask for directions like an idiot, but you promised yourself that unless you found your way in the next three minutes, you-

The sudden blare of a police siren made you jump in your seat, dull pain in your chest following the startle in your heart. Jesus. Before you could try to find the source, the red and blue flashed in the corner of your eyes in your rear-view mirror.

Along with the flashing sign asking you to stop.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

This wasn’t karma toying with you anymore. This was God’s fucking punishment.

And the Beacon County Sherriff’s department definitely already hated you.

With a sigh, you pulled over at the nearest opening, grateful for the siren instantly falling silent, quickly followed by the flashing lights dying out as the door of the police car opened.

Fine. Fine. So you’d have your papers checked twice in one day, whatever. But you swore if they would test you for alcohol again, you’d throw a fit. It was already midday. You were supposed to be at the school at the moment and you would have, hadn’t it been for the self-important prick in uniform you encountered less than an hour ago.

You pulled your window down and dug into your glove compartment in search of the documents for the second time that day, throwing them on the passenger seat. Looking for your driver’s licence next as you heard the officer stop by your door, you started talking, willing yourself to be nice despite the world not returning the favour today.

“Okay, officer, I’m sorry and I mean no disrespect, but could we deal with this really fast? I swear I have been pulled over for checking papers two towns over, breathalyser and walking included, and I know for a fact that I haven’t done anything wrong now and I was most definitely not speeding, so please just let me show you the papers and we’ll be on our way, because I’m already late, okay?” you blurted out in one breath, finally finding your prize.

Ha!

“Ma’am.”

The police officer addressed you with a surprisingly low level of irritation in his voice, but you felt a pang of shame anyway as you gathered all the documents.  

“I’m sorry, that was rude, but it was also the truth and it would really help me, so here-“

The moment you turned to hand your papers to the poor man who was just doing his job and looked up, your brain came to a screeching halt – and refused to work in anything but simple short sentences.

Oh. He’s young.

Oh, he’s pretty.

Oh god, he needs a bigger uniform. The sleeves are definitely too tight. His arms-

Speaking of arms. And shoulders. He had a patch on the uniform. He wasn’t an officer. He was with the Sherriff’s department, after all. He was a Deputy.

A really, really handsome deputy.

With a light-brown ruffled hair and cute wrinkle between his brows as his bright green eyes roamed your face with misplaced but entirely genuine concern, the corners of his lips lifted in a careful but friendly smile.

You were fucked. You would also like to be fucked. By him. He could use the handcuffs that were no doubt fastened on the back of his belt if he wanted. On you or on him. No preference. Jesus. Your mind was definitely not supposed to head into the gutter so fast, but here you were.

This must have been karma paying you back for your grief. She sent Deputy Parrish to make your day better. You didn’t know whether to climb him like a tree or pinch his cheek first – that was how attractive and absolutely entirely cute he was. Especially when he frowned a little harder.

Be still my foolish heart.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

“Yes! Sir.” you blurted out, letting go of the papers at last. “I’m fine.”

And so are you.

You couldn’t believe he was addressing you as ma’am. Then again, you couldn’t believe you just called him Sir. You needed to get a grip.

On him, your brain helpfully supplied and even as you completely agreed, you willed to remind yourself you were an adult and not a screeching horny teenager. Which was slightly difficult since the Deputy’s lips curled up in an easy smile.

“Good. And you’re right, you weren’t speeding,” he assured you, completely ignoring the documents you handed him, eyes firmly on yours.

They really were pretty. But momentarily not enough to distract you from what he said. Go adulthood.

“I’m pretty sure I was going on a snail pace.”

“Exactly,” he confirmed, his smile growing along with your bewilderment.

He wasn’t checking your papers, still. He didn’t pull you over because you were speeding – quite the opposite, it seemed. Huh? What were you missing? It was your turn to frown.

“…you pulled me over because I was going too slow?” you asked, slowly, pondering over every syllable, because even as you said it, it made no damn sense.

“Yes-“

“But this isn’t a free-way! There’s no limit, is there?” you questioned. Wait, was there? Was that a California thing? A Beacon County thing you failed to research? “...I probably shouldn’t admit to this, but I’m so very confused right now.”

The Deputy – Parrish, his nametag read – chuckled, flashing a perfect white line of teeth in the process, his left eyebrow arching almost playfully.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t remember seeing your car around before and given the fact you were on the opposite end of the speed limit, I was wondering if you needed any help?”

Your confusion hit an entirely new limit. You understood every word he said, but it seemed like they made no sense whatsoever when woven together like this. You blinked several times, but the image of a handsome and apparently an overly helpful deputy didn’t disappear. Not even when you tilted your head. Weird.

“…you pulled me over because I looked lost and you thought I might need help…?”

He grimaced, even as the amiability still shone from his eyes. “It does sound pretty strange now that I think of it, doesn’t it?”

It did.

It also probably sounded a little creepy.

And maybe it should scare you, especially since the guy was a pretty face – a devil with a face of an angel, you heard all about those, the charming serial killers – but something told you that you could trust him. If not for the strangely intense gut feeling telling you this guy did not have a single mean bone in his body, then for the fact that there was another person in the car waiting for him. Surely, they couldn’t both be serial killers. Right?

And there were a few people around who could be potential witnesses in case these two planned to Ted-Bundy you in the nearby woods, so you were going to be fine.

But mostly, Deputy Parrish was emitting such a warm and kind aura, with his boyish smile – a little self-deprecating now, bless his heart – making his bright green irises crinkle, that you simply couldn’t but trust him.

You hoped it wouldn’t bite you in the ass. Though you’d have nothing against him biting-

You cleared your throat.

“A little…” you admitted at last, a smile spreading your lips as well as the tips of his ears seemed to grow slightly red, “but truth to be told, I am lost and you look like the kind of a cop who’s really dedicated to the whole ‘protect and serve’ thing, Deputy Parrish. So… thanks for the care, I guess.”

“All the same.” He gave you back your documents without sparing them a single glance, his free hands now occupied by resting on his belt. “Where you headed?”

High school. The simple and most adequate answer was high school. But the sincerely curious tone in Mr. Handsome Deputy’s voice just flipped a switch in your brain, leading you to share way more than necessary.

“Uhm… I have meeting with the principal of local high school. I’m gonna teach there, starting next week. English and Spanish.”

“Oh! Welcome then,” he greeted you warmly, seemingly pleased by that information for some reason. “High school’s easy enough. Just follow us.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was joking, right?

He did not look like he was joking.

In fact, he seemed perfectly relaxed – even if still standing tall, shoulders squared -, the easy smile still on his lips, he reciprocated your gaze with more patience than you probably deserved.

Instinctively, you looked over your shoulder, finding the Deputy’s companion waiting in the car, playing with his phone. From the distance, he appeared completely unbothered by the world around him.

“Miss?”

You head snapped back to Deputy Parrish, not missing his slightly amused tone or the change in addressing. One corner of his lips lifted, you noticed he was slightly leaned forward to you. If you had even a little bit higher opinion of yourself, you’d say he was flirting. And he was on the job – a job he clearly took very seriously. Definitely not flirting. Right?

“But you-- he… really?”

“Yes.”

Well. That actually sounded great. Lord knew you were already spectacularly late. You’d take your chance – as surreal as this whole encounter had been so far; you might as well make the most of it. Especially with a willing and maybe flirty eye-candy like Deputy Parrish.

Leaning onto the frame of the window, you gazed up at the man, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Is this a trick? Are you actually arresting me? I mean… surely you have better things to do than help a teacher with a dead GPS find her way...?”

His gaze flickered to the console to your phone and the excuse of a charger, the root of all trouble – trouble you were barely worried about momentarily, since he gave you a sympathetic smile.

“I promise we’re not arresting you. The school’s less than ten minutes away. It’s no trouble, really,” he said, shrugging it off.

The choice was easy then – with one little detail.

“Thank you… but you will not turn on the siren, right? And the flashing lights?” you pleaded, only half-joking. He quirked one corner of his lips. “‘Cause I would never get away with telling the class to be quiet if I make that much noise just arriving at school for the first time.”

You were well-aware it was past midday – but you’d swear that when the man laughed, because of something you said with an intention to make him laugh, the sun only had just finally come out. It was a blinding sight; and your smile widened of its own volition at the joyful sound.

“I will not turn on the lights nor the siren and I’ll stop a few streets over so you don’t make a spectacle on your first day,” he promised, still chuckling, so absurdly sunshine-like you truly were tempted to put your sunglasses on. And maybe a facial mask to hide just how hot your face felt under his appreciative gaze.

“Bless you, Deputy.”

“Hey, it’s protect and serve, right?” he echoed your earlier words, grinning.

For some inexplicable reason, the best reaction you came up as he was turning to leave was to mimic a salute.

You groaned in embarrassment as soon as you believed him to be out of earshot and sight – but still, you were sensible enough to check the side mirror to catch a glimpse of him leaving.

You were not disappointed. The sleeves were not the only part of his attire that was a little snug. Bless the Deputy, indeed.

As you eventually pulled up at the school parking lot, the police car disappearing in the distance, you found yourself still smiling wide despite regretting some of your choices; the memory of the attractive Deputy fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but feeling an imprint on your heart too, his wholesome persona and contagious smile leaving you giddy and ready to face your fresh start.

Even if you were a little late for it.

Next part // Series masterlist // Complete masterlist

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